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darniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
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d'imagos  n*cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
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CAPTAIN    LOVE 


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CAPTAIN  LOVE 

The  History  of  a  Most  'Romantic  £cent  in  the 
We  of  an  English  Gentleman  During  the  Reign  of 
Hts  Majesty  George  the  First.  Containing  Inci- 
dents of  Courtship  and  'Danger  as  Related  in  the 
Chronicles  of  the  Period  and  Now  Set  Down  in 
Print 


VHEODORE  %OBERTS 

Jlulhor  of  ••  lied  Feathers.  "  '•  Brothers  of  'Peril. ' 
Hemming  the  Adventurer. ' '  etc. 


Illustrated  by 

LOUIS  ©.   GOWING 


BOSTON    ^    L.  C.  <PAQE  & 
COMPANY    ^    mOCCCCVIII 


Or-*, 


227233 


Copyright,  igo8 

By  L.  C.  Page  &  Company 

(incokpokatbd) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reser<'ed 


First  Impression,  April,  1908 


COLONIAL   PRESS 
EUctrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Si„onds  b-  C. 
totten,  U.  S.A. 


TO 

C.  W.  B. 

AND 

®.  B.  mtLt^. 


CONTENTS 


<'UAPTBB 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 
VI. 
VII. 
VIII. 
IX. 
X. 
XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXI. 
XXII. 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 
XXV. 
XXVI. 


On  the  Highway 

The  Nameless  Gentleman 

The  House  on  the  Heath 

A  Face  and  a  Dri^am 

The  Nameless  Gentleman  Finds  a 

Sir  John's  Town  Establishment 

Pi-ows  AND  Friendship 

Confidences 

The  Kigh  Adventure 

More  about  the  Rescued  Lady 
The  Meeting 

The  Hell -rake  . 

Thk  Beggar 

The  Captain's  Outbreak 

Trouble  ■'.vith  Creighton 

In  the  Dark 

The  Day  After  . 

The  Captain's  Temptation 

Parson  Love 

Disclosures 

FARiiWELLS     . 

At  the  White  Heron 
"Expectant  Equito" 
A  Busy  Night     . 

Mr.  Chester's  Change  ok  Plans 
Julia     , 


Nam 


PAOR 
I 

lO 

24 

35 
44 
52 
60 

71 
79 
94 

in 

122 

»34 

»45 

'57 

160 

178 

190 

200 

209 

222 

231 

24S 

25s 

268 

276 


■*■ 


^r 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

— -♦• — 

"At    last    a    few    lines    were    accomplished" 
^^^^"P-g'm) Frontispuce 

"The   FOOTMAN'S   MUSKET   bellowed   OVERHEAD" 

"Struck      his     bewildered     pursuer     to     the 
ground" 

"  Man  AND  WEAPON  thumped  upon  the  floor  "    '      8q 
"Laid  a   hand  on   his   arm  and   smiled    up  at 
him" 

"The  forlorn  man  of  the  sea  shuffled  into 
the  room  "   . 

139 


CAPTAIN  LOVE 


CHAPTER   I 

ON    THE    HIGHWAY 

At  about  the  fall  of  dusk  of  a  rare  June  evening 
m  a  country  of  bosky  woodlands  and  fat  meadows' 
a  travelling  carriage  rolled,   with  sedate  celerity' 
along  the  highway.    The  vehicle  was  large  and  well 
appointed,  with  fine  arms  emblazoiied  on  the  doors 
tour  portmanteaus  in  the  rumble  with  the  guard 
and  four  horses  in  the  harness.    The  postilions  and 
the  fellow  behind  were  in  liveries  of  buff  and  blue 
and  each  wore  that  air  of  massive  calm  which  pro-' 
claims  a  trusted  servant  of  the  great.     Inside  the 
carnage  sat  two  gentlemen  at  their  ease,  talking 
vv.th  animation,  laughing  now  and  then,  and  hon 
estly  enjoying  the  fading  landscape  and  the  clean 
tragrant  air  that  blew  through  the  lowered  win- 
dows^   Their  talk  was  as  the  talk  of  old  and  tested 
friends,  comfortable,  unforced  and  sincere 
The  elder  of  the  two  gentlemen  in  the  carriage 

1 


Captain  Love 


looked  to  be  of  about  forty  years  of  age.     Though 
lie  was  of  no  uncommon  bigness  for  an  English- 
man, there  was  that  in  the  bearing  of  chest  and 
shoulders  suggestive  of  great  strength.     His  com- 
plexion,  by   its   dusky   tint   and    innumerable    fine 
wrinkles,  told  of  exposure  to  alien  suns;  and  by  the 
level  regard  of  his  eyes  and  the  set  of  his  jaws,  the 
dullest  fool  would  have  known  him  a  commander 
of  men.     Courage,  manliness  and  a  zest  for  adven- 
ture were  marked  honestly  upon  him;   and  some- 
where about  the  eyes  and  mouth  was  a  play  of 
tenderness  that  told  of  a  gentle  heart  under  that 
alert  and  tempered  exterior.    He  showed  no  points 
of  lofty  genius ;   but  that  he  was  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth  a  discerning  stranger  would  acknowledge  at 
a  glance. 

The  younger  of  the  two  gentlemen  was  taller, 
handsnmer.  and  of  a  slighter  build  than^is  com- 
panion. His  face  wore  an  air  of  gentle  melancholy 
when  in  repose,  but  his  smile  was  quick  and  whim- 
sical and  set  his  dark  eyes  gleaming.  His  long, 
claret-coloured  coat  was  more  richly  laced  than  hts' 
companion's;  his  slim  hands  were  elegantly  gloved 
and  —  for  such  was  the  taste  of  the  day  —  a  deli- 
cate perfume  exhaled  from  the  frills  of  his  shirt 
and  the  laces  at  his  wrists.    In  his  cheeks  was  some- 


On  the  Highway 


thing  of  the  pallor  of  the  student  and  his  voice, 
even  when  raised  in  laughter,  was  ftly  modulated 
and  clear  as  a  bell. 

"  Old  London  is  the  pick  of  the  world."  said  the 
elder  of  the  two  travellers.  "  I've  drunk  my  liquor 
in  many  cities,  Harry,  but  nowhere  have  I  caught 
the  taste  and  the  comfort  of  it  as  in  this  same  old 
town  to  which  we  are  now  rolling  along.  Give  me 
an  English  inn.  lad,  and  that  in  the  thick  of  Lon- 
don, and  the  devil  may  have  all  the  foreign  places, 
and  welcome." 

"And  yet  those  foreign  places  are  not  to  be 
lightly  considered."  replied  t.e  other.  "  Three  or 
four  such  come  very  pleasantly  to  my  mind,  even 
at  this  moment." 

"Like  enough,  like  enough."  cried  his  com- 
panion; "  but  do  not  forget  that  you  saw  them  as 
a  rich  traveller,  rolling  from  town  to  town  like  a 
prince,  while  J,  sight-seeing  and  looking  for  rest 
between  campaigns,  was  of  but  little  more  conse- 
quence than  a  private  soldier.  But  in  the  London 
taverns  I  know  of  — nor  the  highest,  mind  you. 
but  the  most  comfortable- a  poor  devil  of  a  cap- 
tain is  as  good  as  a  duke,  so  long  as  he  has  the 
com  on  the  table  and  a  voice  with  which  to  make 
himself  heard." 


Captain  Love 


The  other,  sunk  in  reverie,  made  no  reply  to  this 
praise  of  London  taverns.  His  quick  spirit  hac' 
passed  back  to  the  north,  and  the  wounds  in  his 
young  heart  were  blee(hng  again.  The  soldier, 
noting  and  understanding,  set  himself  to  lift  the 
mood. 

"  I  can  scarce  believe  this  to  be  your  first  trip 
to  London,"  he  said.  "  You  have  the  best  air  al- 
ready, lad.  if  I've  ever  seen  it.  Many  a  dandy  who 
has  spent  years  in  the  old  town  would  give  a  plump 
fortune  for  your  grace  of  manner.  Manners  is  the 
cry  nowadays,  and  t'hell  with  the  morals!  The 
higher  you  climb,  the  lower  you  go,  I've  heard  it 
said." 

"Damn  their  morals!"  exclaimed  the  other. 
Then,  smiling.  "  Might  it  not  be,"  he  asked.  "  that 
Paris  and  the  cities  of  Europe,  the  halls  of  Oxford 
and  the  training  of  my  parents,  are  as  fit  polishers 
for  a  gentleman's  manners  as  the  courts  and  coffee- 
houses of  London  ?  " 

"  You  are  right  there."  replied  the  soldier.  "  but 
you  do  not  v;atch  the  nicest  shade  of  my  meaning. 
You  are  not  only  what  no  child  of  your  noble 
father  and  lovely  mother  could  help  being  — an 
aristocrat,  a  scholar,  and  a  sportsman  —  but,  as 
surely  as  you  are  all  these  and  a  poet  beside,  you 


■fwr"^' 


On  the  Highway 


are  a  type  of  the  most  select  and  most  modern  Lon- 
don dandy.  Harry,  the  thing  is  a  chance  gift  of 
the  gods  and  has  but  little  to  do  with  your  trav:  a, 
your  education,  or  your  imposing  ancestry." 

Again  the  gentleman  addressed  as  Harry  smiled ; 
but  now  with  a  touch  of  indulgence. 

"  Jack,  you  are  a  wonderful  fellow,"  he  said. 
"  Not  content  with  winning  medals  and  scars  in 
half  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  you  must  prod  into 
my  origin  —  which,  Heaven  knows,  is  plain  as  a 
pike-staff  —  until  you  find  that  I  am  begotten  of 
the  gods,  polished  by  inspiration  and  educated  by 
fate  —  with  no  credit  at  all  for  the  wise  doctors  at 
Oxford.  Jack.  I  have  hitherto  looked  upon  you  as 
nothing  but  a  hearty  friend  and  a  dashing  soldier; 
but  now,  I  fear  me,  you'll  be  writing  a  book." 

For  a  moment  Jack  looked  puzzled.  Then  ne 
laughed  doubtfully.  "Yov.e  right,  Harry;  an 
humble  friend  I  am,  and  a  battered  soldier,  God 
knows,"  he  said.  *'  It's  the  wine  we  drunk  at 
luncheon  that's  making  an  Oriental  philosopher  of 
me  —  and  d  devilish  silly  flatterer  to  boot.  If  you 
prove  but  half  as  witty  as  your  mother  and  half  as 
brave  as  your  father,  then  I'll  expect  great  things 
of  you  in  London  Town." 

"  We'll    expect    some    rare    sport,    whatever    I 


Captain  Love 


prove,"    replied   Harry.     "How   goes   that   song. 
Jack?"  ^ 

"  Which  song?  "  inquired  the  honest  soldier. 

For  answer,  Harry  hummed  the  opening  bars  of 
a  tune  familiar  to  his  companion. 

'•  Ah,  now  I  have  it,"  he  cried.  "  I  invented  it 
this  very  morning,  in  bed  at  The  Royal  Oak. 
Stand  ready.  Jack,  to  support  the  chorus." 

In  an  expressive  tenor,  he  sang : 

"  Nancy's  brow  is  white  as  snow. 
Nancy's  lips  are  cherries. 
Nancy's  little  teeth,  arow, 
Gleam  like  candle-berries. 

Here's  a  health  to  Nancy,  then 

Our  Queen  with  eyes  o'  brown  — 
For  she'll  be  wed  to  Parson,  Jack. 
E'er  we  get  back  from  town. 

«  Rolling  up  to  London  Town, 
Merry  boys  together ! 

Never  think  of  what's  to  pay 

Never  mind  the  weather  ! 

"  M'Lady's  brow  is  white  as  milk  ; 
Her  Grace's  teeth  are  coral ; 
The  marchioness  is  robed  in  silk  ; 
The  countess  points  a  moral. 
So  here's  to  all  the  ladies.  Jack, 

With  eyes  of  blue  or  brown 

For  we'll  be  wed  to  some  one,  Jac'T. 
E'er  we  get  back  from  town. 


song, 

rs  of 

ed  it 
Oak. 


On  the  Highway 


& 


"  Rolling  up  to  London  Town, 
Merry  boys  together ! 
Never  think  of  what's  to  pay  — 
Never  mind  the  weather ! " 

The  soldier,  sitting  very  erect,  lent  a  ringing  bass 
to  the  chorus.  The  postilions  grinned  as  they  heard 
it.  The  fellow  behind  rapped  out  the  air  on  the 
stock  of  his  musket  and  hummed  it  deep  in  his 
throat.    Harry  struck  up  another  verse :  — 

"  Sweet,  your  name  I  do  not  know  — 
Queen  of  London  village. 
I'll  lay  siege  to  brows  of  snow 
And  take  your  heart  by  pillage  ! 
Tell  me  —  Are  your  eyes  of  blue, 
Black,  or  merry  brown  ? 
Tell  me  —  Will  you  love  me  true, 
Queen  of  London  Town  ? 

"  Rolling  up  to  London,  Jack, 
Merry  boys  together ! 
Never  reck  if  we'll  get  back ! 
Never  mind  the  weather !  " 

"  Very  good.  Very  good  indeed,"  remarked  the 
soldier.  "  A  deal  better,  I  swear,  than  the  verses 
of  many  a  London  poet.  But  I  take  exception,  my 
dear  Harry,  to  the  alteration  in  the  chorus." 

"  I  did  that  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,"  replied 
Harry. 

"  And  I  have  an  objectioa  to  roaJce  to  the  senti- 


8 


Captain  Love 


ment  of  your  song,"  said  Jack.  "  I,  for  one,  am 
not  going  up  to  town  to  find  a  wife  —  Heaven  for- 
bid! A  soft  military  command  is  what  I  have  in 
my  mind's  eye.  After  twenty-two  years  of  the 
knocks  of  a  soldier's  life  I  am  now  looking  out  for 
some  of  the  nuts." 

"  And  you  deserve  them,  my  dear  fellow,"  said 
the  other. 

"  As  for  this  queen  of  London  Town,"  continued 
the  soldier,  ignoring  his  friend's  remark  —  "be 
sure  she  is  queen  of  your  heart,  as  well.  It's  a  big 
town  and  a  bad  one,  lad,  with  many  a  black  heart 
behind  white  breasts  and  many  a  false  tongue  be- 
hind those  red  lips  of  which  we  sang.  Take  a  sol- 
dier's word  for  it,  my  noble  friend  —  a  sure  sword, 
though  of  little  comfort  in  days  of  peace,  is  a  safer 
mate  for  a  young  man  than  a  ravishing  beauty." 

Harry's  smile  was  grim  as  he  laid  a  hand  on 
his  friend's  knee.  "  Do  you  expect  me  to  admit, 
even  to  you.  that  I've  learned  a  lesson  ?  "  he  asked. 
Then  —  "  You  take  my  song  too  literally  —  and  I 
do  believe  you  have  inherited  a  taste  for  preach- 
mg. 

"  If  I  preach,"  replied  the  soldier,  "  I  assure  you 
the  taste  for  it  is  not  inherited.  My  father,  worthy, 
reverend  and  beloved  man,  depends  on  a  dog-eared 


u 

X 

a: 

> 

O 


Id 


O 

o 

b 

W 

X 
H 


J, 


On  the  Highway 


9 


volume  of  Bishop  Maypole's  '  Reflections  '  for  his 
sermons  —  unless  he  has  changed  mightily  during 
my  absence.  He  carries  the  book  into  the  pulpit 
with  him  —  for  who's  to  gainsay  him  in  Dodwater? 
—  and  reads  his  chapter  openly  and  honestly." 

At  that  moment  the  coach  drew  to  a  standstill 
and  one  of  the  postilions  dismounted  and  lit  the 
lamps.  Then  the  journey  was  continued  at  a  lively 
pace. 

"  Another  hour,  at  this  rate,  will  bring  us  to  a 
decent  tavern,  if  my  memory  serves  me,"  remarked 
the  soldier. 

The  words  had  scarcely  died  on  his  lips  before 
a  pistol  shot  rang  above  the  rolling  of  the  wheels 
and  the  pounding  of  the  hoofs.  The  vehicle 
lurched,  and  stopped  short  so  suddenly  that  both 
gentlemen  were  thrown  violently  forward  on  to 
their  hands  and  knees.  The  footman's  musket  bel- 
lowed overhead.  Another  pistol  shot  spoke  and 
was  followed  close  by  a  scream  of  agony.  Curses 
were  shouted,  in  tones  of  dismay  and  exultation ; 
and  over  went  the  fine  carriage  into  the  ditch,  amid 
a  rending  of  harness  and  a  clattering  of  gear. 


CHAPTER    II 


THE   NAMELESS   GENTLEMAN 

The  tenant  of  Nullwood  Lower  Farm,  William 
Holt  by  name,  entered  the  kitchen  of  the  farm- 
house with  heavy  tread.  His  whole  broad  face 
glowed  moistly  through  the  dispersed  sweat  of  his 
brow.  A  few  dried  blooms  of  early  clover  and  a 
long  straw  of  timothy-grass  clung  to  his  woollen 
stockings.  His  wife,  who  stood  by  the  door  of  the 
bake-oven,  turned  sharply  at  his  entrance. 

"  Not  so  heavy !  "  she  cried.  "  Lord-a-mercy, 
ye  stump  like  a  fatted  ox !  " 

"  Fiddle-de-dee,  woman !  I  walks  like  an  honest 
farmer,"  retorted  Holt.  "D'ye  look  to  find  a 
gentleman  at  every  turn  r  i  your  silly  old  head  ?  " 
he  added. 

At  that  moment  a  girl  entered  from  an  inner 
room.  Her  rustic  charms  were  heightened  by  a 
glow  in  her  cheeks  and  a  fine  radiance  in  her  eyes. 

"  He  axed  me  where  he  was,"  she  whispered. 
"  And  oh,  he  did  look  at  me  real  sensible." 

10 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 


11 


With  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction,  the  farmer 
started  towards  the  door  by  which  his  daughter  had 
just  entered  the  kitchen.  His  good  dame  cried 
after  him  that  his  face  needed  washing  and  his 
manners  mending;  but  he  held  on  his  way  and  en- 
tered the  shaded  chamber  on  the  toes  of  his  great 
boots. 

In  a  tumbled  bed  in  a  comer  lay  a  young  man. 
His  face  was  pale  and  thin,  but  of  a  high  distinction 
of  feature.  Lip  and  chin  were  covered  with  the 
down  of  a  youthful  beard.  But  h'-  'tyes  were  clear 
and  sane.  He  smiled  gently  in  reply  to  his  host's 
respectful  salutation. 

"  And  now,  young  gentleman,"  said  the  farmer, 
"  I  wants  to  know  what  your  name  may  be  an' 
where  ye  comes  from.  For  two  weeks  come  Satur- 
day, me  wife  an'  darter  has  tended  ye  like  one  of 
our  own  blood  —  beggin'  your  Honour's  pardon 
for  sayin'  so  —  an'  now  we'd  like  to  know  just  who 
ye  may  be." 

The  sick  man  stared  at  the  yeoman  with  puzzled 
eyes.  "  You  ask  me  who  I  am,"  he  said  —  "  well, 
to  tell  the  tiuth,  I  do  not  seem  to  know." 

The  farmer  scratched  his  head  and  shuffled  on  his 
feet.  "  Dang  they  foot-pads  an'  dang  they  fevers," 
he  muttered.    "  What  the  one  begins  t'other  finishes 


12 


Captain  Love 


—  an'  not  a  surgeon  to  bleed  ye  this  side  o'  Tavcr- 
ton,"  he  added. 

The  sick  man  watched  him  keenly;  and  now, 
very  feebly,  he  spoke  again.  Low  as  his  voice  was, 
it  trembled  with  eagerness. 

"  You  talk  of  fever  and  foot-pads,"  he  said. 
"  You  say  that  your  wife  and  daughter  have  nursed 
me  for  two  weeks  come  Saturday  —  and  still  you 
ask  me  who  I  am  and  where  I  come  from.  I  think 
it  is  for  you  to  answer  questions,  my  good  friend." 

"  Ax  away,"  retorted  the  rustic,  smiling  broadly. 

"  Then  how  the  devil  do  I  happen  to  be  in  bed 
in  a  farmhouse  chamber?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Holt.  "  Why,  dang  it,  my  gen- 
tleman, baint  a  farmer's  bed  soft  enough  for  your 
lordship?" 

At  that  moment  the  girl  opened  the  door  and  en- 
tered the  room.  "  Dad,"  said  she,  "  be  that  the  way 
to  talk  to  the  gentleman  —  an'  him  sick.  Ye'll  have 
him  ravin'  an'  rollin'  again  if  ye  shouts  so  loud. 
Leave  him  be !    Leave  him  be !  " 

Without  more  ado  sVe  pushed  her  offending 
parent  from  the  room  and  closed  the  door  on  his 
heels.  Then,  going  over  to  the  bedside  she  fed  the 
invalid  with  broth  from  a  great  bowl.     He  sipped 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 


13 


from  the  pewter  spoon  like  a  child.  Presently  he 
raised  his  fine  eyes  to  the  maiden's. 

"  You  will  think  me  very  foolish,"  he  said ;  "  but 
will  you  kindly  tell  me  my  name." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  I  do  not  know  your  name. 
But  how  gladly  would  I  help  you  if  I  could." 

For  a  little  while  he  lay  with  his  eyes  clo.,ed  and 
his  brows  wrinkled. 

"  Lord,  I  car  remember  nothing,"  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly. 

"  Sir,  you  must  lay  quiet.  You  must  rest  your 
mind  —  else  all  our  trouble  will  count  for  nought," 
whispered  the  girl. 

For  answer  the  sick  man,  looking  at  her  steadily 
but  unseeingly,  chanted  :  — 

"  Sweet,  your  name  I  do  not  know  — 
Queen  of  London  village. 
I'll  lay  siege  to  brows  of  snow  — 
Take  your  heart  by  pillage. 
Tell  me,  are  your  eyes  of  blue, 
Black,  or  merry  brown  ? 
Tell  me  —  will  you  love  me  true, 
Queen  of  London  Town  ?  " 

"  Lor.  sir,"  cried  the  girl,  "  what  be  ye  about 
now?  Your  Honour  have  sung  that  song  a  score 
o'  times,  an'  talked  an'  talked  about  it." 


14 


Captain  Love 


"And  what  else  did  I  talk  about?"  he  asked, 
leaning  sidewise  on  his  pillow, 

"  Ye  called  me  Jack  —  many's  the  time  ye  called 
me  so,"  said  the  girl.  "  An'  ye  talked  about  Lun- 
non  —  about  me  an'  you  —  Jack  an'  you,  your 
Honour  —  a-goin'  to  Lunnon.  An'  ye  cried  out 
aboitt  the  queen ;  an'  oncet  ye  spoke  of  yer  dad,  — 
an'  oncet  —  " 

"Of  my  father?"  inquired  the  invalid  — 
"  Then  surely  I  said  his  name  ?  Surely,  else  how 
would  you  know  of  whom  I  spoke  ?  " 

The  girl  began  to  weep,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Nay,  sir,  ye  gave  him  no  name,"  she  sobbed. 
"  Tlie  best  father  in  the  country  —  ay,  the  best  in 
England  —  that  be  what  ye  said,  sir;  an'  when  ye 
first  opened  yo'     eyes  ye  called  dad  '  Julia.  " 

When  the  young  man  awoke  next  morning  he 
felt  stronger.  For  an  hour  or  two  he  lay  quiet,  try- 
ing and  trying  to  grasp  some  thread  out  of  that 
past  which  his  brain  had  let  slip.  The  incidents  of 
the  previous  day  —  the  farmer's  visit,  and  his  talk 
with  the  girl  —  were  clear  enough ;  buf.  beyond  that 
his  mind  could  lay  hold  of  nothing  save  the  words 
of  a  foolish  song :  — 


"  Sweet,  your  name  I  do  not  know  — 
Queen  of  London  village." 


t=: 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 


15 


1 


"  If  I  but  knew  my  own  it  would  be  more  to  the 
purpose,"  he  murmured. 

A  shaft  of  sunlight  was  strej.ming  acrcss  his  bed, 
from  the  deep-set  lattice,  when  the  farmer's  daugh- 
ter at  last  entered  with  his  breakfast  of  gruel.  He 
ate  eagerly,  cleaning  the  bowl  to  the  last  drop. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  know  the 
cause  of  my  sickness.  Will  you  tell  it  me,  my 
lass?" 

Nothing  loath,  the  girl  put  by  the  bowl,  drew  a 
stool  to  the  bedside  and  told  what  she  knew  of  how 
he  chanced   to  become   an   inmate  of    Nullwood 
Lower  Farm.    And  this  was  the  way  of  it.    Tom 
Pawn   -  labourer,  had  come  knocking  at  the  farm- 
house door  at  peep  of  day,  with  an  awful  story  of 
foot-pads  and  murder  in  his  mouth.    At  the  word 
'•  foot-pads "    the   good   yeoman    had    pulled    the 
blankets  about  his  ears;  but,  in  a  twinkling  his  wife 
had  shot  him  on  to  the  floor  and  urged  him  into  a 
few  of  his  most  needful  garments.    After  which  he 
had  followed  Tom  Pawn  a  matter  of  half  a  mile 
down    the   highway  — and    there,    in    the    softly 
spreading  lights  of  the  summer  dawn  he  had  looked 
upon  the  great  coach  overturned  in  the  ditch.    The 
doors  had  been  torn  from  their  hinges,  evidently 
as  the  quickest  way  of  disposing  of  the  arms 


16 


Captain  Love 


thereon.  Five  victims  of  the  assault  lay  on  the 
road.  All  were  naked  to  the  waist.  Three  of  the 
dead  men  were  proclaimed  servitors  by  the  quality 
and  condition  of  their  boots.  The  other  two  — 
gentlemen  at  a  glance  —  had  been  stripped  even  to 
their  feet.  And  one  of  these  was  seen  to  have  a 
spark  of  life  still  aglow  in  him  —  and  him  the 
rustics  had  rolled  in  a  smock  and  carried  back  to 
the  farmhouse. 

The  invalid  caught  the  girl's  wrist  in  his  thin 
fingers,  as  she  finished  her  story. 

"  By  God."  he  cried,  "  that  outrage  shall  be  paid 
for  in  blood.  Nameless  I  may  be.  but  I  swear  it  on 
the  oath  of  a  gentleman.  Those  honest  fellows  in 
the  muddy  boots  —  ye  gods.  I  feel  it  in  my  blood 
they  were  my  servants.  And  the  poor,  deri  gentle- 
man ?  —  who  was  he  but  my  friend  ?  Ay,  my 
friend,  though  my  memory  holds  nothing  of  him  — 
not  an  echo  of  his  voice  —  not  a  line  of  his  face  "  — 
and  with  a  gesture  at  once  pathetic  and  menacing, 
the  youth  turned  his  face  to  the  pillow  and  eased 
his  grief  with  tears. 

Thus  the  farmer  and  his  wi  f e  found  them  —  the 
sick  man  sobbing  in  the  pillow  and  the  simple  girl 
blubbering  beside  the  bed. 
"  Rip  my  innards,"  exclaimed  Holt,  "  but  here  be 


k 

i 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 


17 


a  merry  company."  The  dame  grasped  her  daugh- 
ter by  the  shoulder  and  jerked  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Pack  yoursel'  out  o'  this,  my  lass.  Churnin' 
he  awaitin'  on  ye,"  she  cried;  and,  with  more 
strength  than  skill,  propelled  the  maid  from  the 
room.  The  disturbance  both  aroused  and  calmed 
the  gentleman  in  the  bed. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  inquired, 
discovering  his  face  to  his  entertainers. 

"  Axin'  yer  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  "  but 
this  baint  iio  time  fer  tears.  Eye-water  an'  fever 
be  friends,  an'  ye've  had  yer  fill  o'  fever." 

"An'  what  may  be  the  trouble?"  asked  the 
fanner. 

"  I  mourn  my  murdered  friend  and  my  murdered 
servants."  replied  the  youth. 

"  Ay.  your  Honour,"  said  the  farmer,  "  an'  what 
might  their  names  be?" 

"  Nay,  that  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  good  fellow," 
answered  the  other.    "  My  past  lies  in  their  graves." 

Day  by  day  the  nameless  gentleman  recovered 
health  and  strength.  Though  every  incident  of  his 
past  life  had  been  wiped  from  his  memory,  either 
by  the  blow  on  his  head  received  from  the  highway- 
man, or  by  the  fever,  his  brain  was  sane  and  capable 
as  ever  and  the  results  of  his  old  training  had  been 


18 


Captain  Love 


spared  to  him.  In  a  Latin  book,  which  some  clerkly 
traveller  had  left  at  the  farmhouse,  he  read  with 
ease  and  delight. 

In  those  days  this  fact  in  itself  was  sufficient  to 
mark  him  as  a  person  of  quality.  Farmer  Holt 
made  inquiries  at  several  of  the  houses  of  the  near- 
est gentry:  but  none  of  the  aristocracy  of  that 
region  missed  either  a  friend  or  a  relative. 

One  day  in  September  the  restless  spirit  of  youth, 
and  the  desire  to  fare  into  the  world  and  seek  his 
lost  name  and  identity,  grew  too  strong  for  the 
nameless  gentleman  to  withstand.  He  sought  out 
the  farmer,  who  was  alone  in  his  wheat-field. 

"  Master  Holt,"  said  he,  "  my  heart  bids  me  out  to 
seek  my  lost  place  in  the  world.  I  may  find  it  under 
my  true  name  or  under  another;  but  find  it  I  will. 
And  then,  my  friend,  a  hundred  golden  pounds  will 
be  yours  and  the  life-long  protection  of  a  powerful 
person." 

The  stout  yeoman  leaned  on  his  scythe. 

"  Ye  speak  bravely,"  he  said,  *'  but  what  pledge 
have  I  that  ye  speak  truth  ?  " 

"  The  word  of  a  gentleman,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Of  a  nameless  gentleman  —  of  a  penniless  gen- 
tleman —  of  a  gentleman  picked  naked  out  of  a 
ditch,"  said  the  farmer. 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 


19 


"  Fellow,"  cried  the  young  man,  "  take  care,  lest 
' ou  uo  yoitrself  a  hurt.  Was  it  not  the  very  rich- 
ness of  my  clothing  that  caused  my  nakedness? 
pi!  yon  no*,  see,  with  your  own  eyes,  the  marks  on 
my  fingers  where  rings  had  been  ?  Mend  your  ad- 
dress, my  good  friend,  or  else  the  profit  of  your 
kindness  may  escape  you." 

"  I  ax  yer  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  yeoman,  who 
was  easily  cowed  by  the  other's  high  spirit.  "  I 
meant  to  take  no  liberty  with  your  Honour,  I 
swear.  An'  maybe,  sir,  ye'll  find  your  name  an' 
your  great  friends  in  Lunnon." 

"Then  shall  I  not  forget  my  honest  friend  of 
Nullwood  Lower  Farm,"  replied  the  youth.  "  Stap 
me,  but  I'll  buy  you  the  farm,  man,  and  the  dame 
and  the  lass  gowns  of  silk,"  he  added. 

"  Thank'ee  kindly,  sir,"  said  the  farmer.  There 
was  a  twinkle  in  his  dull  eye.  "  An'  don't  forget, 
sir,"  he  continued,  "  that  ye  be  carryin'  away  with 
ye  many  a  shillin's  worth  o'  good  cream,  an'  meat, 
an'  ale  an'  many  a  night's  good  nursin'." 

"  The  debt  shall  be  honoured,"  replied  the  gen- 
tleman, with  dignity. 

Clad  in  ill  fitting  yeoman  clothes,  with  an  oak 
cudgel  in  his  hand  and  a  loaf  of  Dame  Holt's  bread 
in   his  pocket,   the  man  bereft   of  memory  and 


l\ 


20 


Captain  Love 


worldly  place  set  his  feet  bravely  to  the  king's  high- 
way. The  shadows  lengthened  across  the  fields  and 
dusk  stole  out  from  the  plantations  of  oak  and 
pine;  and  something  in  the  balmy  air  and  fading 
lights  stirred  the  ghosts  of  memories  in  the  way- 
farer's brain. 

"  My  friend  was  beside  me,"  he  murmured  — 
"  and  we  sang  as  we  rolled  along.  And  the  song 
abides  with  me ;  but,  dear  Lord,  I  cannot  pierce  the 
shadows  to  my  comrade's  face.  Nameless,  penni- 
less, 1  go  afoot  to  London,  who  started  so  grandly 
in  a  rocking  coach." 

Busied  with  such  thoughts,  and  with  vain  at- 
tempts to  awaken  some  nerve  of  the  dead  past,  he 
tramped  along  until  darkness  closed  down  upon  the 
landscape  and  faint  stars  twinkled  overhead.  Then, 
knowing  that  caution  serves  the  poor  as  well  as  the 
rich  on  the  king's  highway  —  for  a  throat  is  as 
easily  slit  as  a  purse  —  he  made  a  den  for  himself 
in  the  hedge-row  and  lay  down  to  sleep.  But  his 
busy  brain,  harking  back  on  a  dead  scent,  kept  him 
wide-eyed  and  restless. 

Of  1  sudden  the  traveller's  coursing  wits  were 
recalled  to  him  by  a  shrill  and  shaken  cry  —  the 
scream  of  a  woman  in  terror.  Quick  as  thought 
he  darted  from  his  retreat  to  the  middle  of  the 


« 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 


21 


wide  road.  Half-way  down  the  slope  which  dipped 
'.ondon-wards  before  him  shone  the  lanterns  of  a 
carriage.  And  again  the  scream  of  fear  rang  on 
the  air.  He  sprang  to  the  shadows  along  the  ditch 
and  ran  noiselessly.  The  cudgel  of  oak  swung  in 
his  hand,  balanced  to  a  nicety.  The  lust  of  battle 
sang  in  his  head  like  the  fumes  of  wine.  The  un- 
certain light  of  the  stars  showed  him  a  small  car- 
riage, a  pair  of  docile  nags,  a  postilion  with  his 
craven  face  hidden  in  his  arms,  and  a  mounted  man 
beside  the  coach  with  head  and  shoulders  thrust 
inside.  Leaping  up,  he  gripped  the  robber  by  the 
belt,  dragged  him  side-long  from  the  saddle  and 
cracked  his  head  with  the  club  of  oak.  The  fellow 
sprawled  and  lay  quiet.  The  p  •'t-boy  sat  up  and 
applied  his  spurs ;  and  amid  fei.  i  me  screams  and 
masculine  curses  from  within,  and  cries  for  more 
speed,  the  carriage  dashed  on  its  way. 

The  rescuer  stood  on  the  gray  road  and  gazed 
after  the  bounding  vehicle. 

"  I  wonder  is  she  old  or  young,  a  beauty  or  a 
shrew  ?  "  he  murmured.  He  caught  the  highway- 
man's gray  horse  by  the  rein  and  made  it  fast  to  a 
thorn-tree.  Then,  bending  down  to  his  victim,  he 
found  the  heart  still  moving  and  the  breath  flutter- 
ing. 


22 


Captain  Love 


ill 


■f 


'i 


M. 


"  Now  shall  the  robber  be  robbed,"  said  he. 

The  highwayman's  garments  were  new,  and  of 
superior  stuffs  and  workmanship.  '  young  man 
pulled  them  off,  from  hat  to  b.  .w,  and  donned 
them  himself.  Thrusting  a  hand  into  a  pocket  of 
the  coat  that  fitted  him  so  fairly,  he  felt  a  little  col- 
lection of  coins  and  rings.  On  the  saddle  he  dis- 
covered a  leather  bag  stuffed  with  gold,  and  fine 
pistols  in  the  holsters.  He  carried  the  senseless 
robber  lo  the  shelter  of  some  bushes  and  covered 
him  with  1*16  smock-frock  and  rustic  garments 
which  he  himself  had  so  lately  worn.  Then, 
mounting  the  gray  horse,  he  rode  on  towards  Lon- 
don. 

He  had  not  ridden  more  thaii  a  mile  before  he 
was  suddenly  joined  by  a  shadowy  horseman  who 
issued,  without  warning,  from  the  gloom  of  a 
thicket.  The  stranger  rode  up  to  his  knee. 

"  Dennis,  you  fool,"  he  cried,  "  where  be  the 
old  knight's  money-bag  an'  the  young  lady's 
trinkets?" 

The  gentleman  did  not  turn  his  face;  but  his 
right  hand  unfastened  the  leather  bag  from  where 
it  was  hooked  beside  his  right  holster. 

"  Here  is  the  money,"  he  said  —  and  bcvitowed 


III 


¥. 


23 


The  Nameless  Gentleman 

the  weight  of  it  so  viciously  upon  the  other's  crown 
that  the  fellow  reeled  in  his  saddle. 

Thereupon  the  nameless  gentleman  touched  spurs 
to  his  good  gray  horse  and  sped  Londonwards  at 
a  gallop. 


|g...-.i.iv. 


^sy.v 


M 


i)» 


CHAPTER    III 


I, 

I 


i  I 


THE   HOUSE   ON    THE    HEATH 

The  gallop  of  the  gray  horse  soon  shifted  to  a 
trot,  and  from  that,  again,  to  a  walk;  and  the 
nameless  gentleman,  feeling  that  the  immediate 
need  of  hurry  was  passed,  did  not  apply  the  spur. 
The  night  was  fine  and  still,  and  grayly  lit  with  a 
myriad  of  small  stars.  The  highway  ran  wide  and 
pale  between  open  heaths.  Save  for  the  measured 
striking  of  the  gray's  shoes  on  the  road,  and  the 
creak  of  saddle-leather,  the  only  sound  was  that  of 
a  dog's  barking,  somewhere  in  front  and  to  the 
right.  What  with  the  blood-glow  of  the  recent  ad- 
venture, the  stir  of  good  horse-flesh  between  his 
knees,  the  charm  of  the  night  and  the  thought  of 
the  bag  of  gold,  the  young  man  felt  a  fine  elation. 
He  squared  his  shoulders  and  looked  proudly 
around  at  the  vague  and  haunting  desert.  He 
patted  the  neck  of  the  gray,  jingled  the  coins  and 
trinkets  in  his  borrowed  pockets  and,  ignoring  the 
dangers  of  the  place  and  hour,  began  to  sing.    He 

24 


h^ 


The  House  on  the  Heath 


25 


was  not  conscious  of  a  knowledge  of  either  the 
words  or  tune;  but  they  came  to  his  brain  and 
tongue  as  required,  with  no  apparent  effort  on  his 
pan.  He  sang  it  to  an  end,  and  then,  thinking  to 
try  it  again,  was  amazed  to  discover  that  he  remem- 
bered not  a  word  of  it.  "  My  head  is  playing  me 
queer  tricks."  he  murmured.  In  distress,  and  fallen 
completely  from  his  mood  of  a  moment  before,  he 
began  to  rack  his  brain  for  some  memories  of  the 
past. 

"  A  hint  might  lead  to  everything,"  he  reflected. 
"  Just  a  name,  or  the  picture  of  a  place,  or  the  re- 
membrance of  a  voice,  and  maybe  all  that  I  have 
lost  will  return  to  me.  But  are  things  to  flash  into 
my  mind,  only  to  slip  away  again  like  the  song  I 
sang  a  moment  ago?  God,  that  would  drive  me  to 
madness.  Nay,  but  I  must  unearth  that  ditty  again, 
though  it  crack  my  skull." 

So  letting  his  horse  continue  to  walk  forward 
at  its  own  pace,  he  set  himself  laboriously  to  refind 
the  words  and  air  of  that  sentimental  song. 
Though  the  effort  was  untimely,  it  was  heroic. 
The  charm  of  the  night  and  the  open  road  called 
to  him,  and  dangers  beset  him,  like  as  not;  and  yet 
he  sat  slack  in  the  saddle,  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
applied  himself  to  the  schooling  of  his  wayward 


:i 


ij 

I! 


i' 


I     i: 


26 


Captain  Love 


mind.  Other  songs  came  to  him  —  amor,  j  them 
the  rhymes  concerning  the  queen  of  London  Town 
—  but  he  brushed  them  aside. 

At  last  the  gray  horse  stopped  short. 

"  Hi,  there,  Barney,  get  down  an'  come  inside. 
The  drink  is  ready  for  you."  cried  a  shaking  and 
unpleasant  voice.  The  nameless  gentleman  sat 
straight  and  looked  about  him.  He  was  in  a  muddy 
yard,  with  low  buildings  in  front  and  on  one  side. 
He  slid  his  rig'i;  hand  to  the  butt  of  a  pistol. 

"Drink?  By  gad,  that's  the  very  word,"  he 
said;  and  without  shifting  his  position  he  sang. 

"  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine." 

A  door  shut  violently  and  bolts  were  shot;  but 
he  finished  the  song. 

"I'll  not  forget  that  again,"  he  said  at  last. 
Greatly  relieved,  he  gave  all  his  attention  to  a  swift 
survey  of  his  surroundings. 

"A  dirty  hole,"  he  thought,  "and  a  nest  of 
rogues,  I'll  swear.  Well,  as  I  am  learning  the  ways 
of  the  world,  I'll  look  into  it,  if  possible." 

He  reined  the  gray  close  to  the  building,  which 
showed  not  so  much  as  a  chink  of  light  and  was 
now  silent  as  the  grave,  and  clattered  a  stirrup-iron 
against  the  door. 


M 


The  House  on  the  Heath  27 


"  Now  I  am  ready  for  that  drink,"  he  shouted. 
A  window  opened  above  his  head,  with  slow  and 
furtive  creakings.     He  touched  a  spur  to  the  gray 
and  wheeled  aside. 

"  Who  comes  to  my  poor  house  at  this  ungodly 
hour  and  demands  drink?"  asked  the  same  harsh 
voice  that  had  accosted  him  before. 

"  A  traveller  who  is  both  athirst  and  weary,"  he 
answered,  keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  the  direction  of 
the  window. 

"  That's  a  fine  horse  you  are  sitting  on,"  re- 
marked the  unseen  guardian  of  the  house. 
"  It  is  a  good  horse,"  replied  the  gentleman. 
At  that  moment  a  lighted  candle  appeared  in  the 
window,  as  if  suddenly  uncovered,  and  the  face  and 
shoulders  of  a  m'>st  repulsiv^looking  old  woman 
were  disclosed  to  the  horseman's  view. 

"  Come  closer,  that  I  may  see  your  face,"  she 
said,  leaning  forward  from  the  casement. 

"  If  you  can  tell  me  who  I  am.  I  shall  be  glad 
to  hear  it,"  replied  the  gentlem?n,  and  at  the  same 
time  he  removed  his  hat  and  rode  into  the  candle- 
light. 

The  hag  studied  his  face  without  any  light  of 
recognition  in  her  bright  and  evil  eyes;  but  at  sight 


28 


Captain  Love 


K 


i\ 


II 


r 


I'll 


of  his  clothing  and  mount  a  low  gasp  escaped  her. 
But  in  a  moment  she  was  smiling. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  to  these  parts,  sir,  an'  that's 
true  enough,"  she  said.  "  This  poor  house  is  not 
often  honoured  by  gentry  like  you.  The  great 
travellers  go  posting  by,  with  never  a  thought  for 
poor  honest  old  Meg,  who  has  kept  this  decent 
place  for  fifty  years.  I'll  wake  the  gaffer,  to  stnble 
your  fine  charger,  sir,  an'  I'll  lay  out  a  bottle  of 
claret,  an'  a  cold  joint,  an'  air  the  best  bed  for  you. 
So  get  down,  sir,  get  down." 

"  Nay.  dame,  I'll  stable  the  nag  myself,"  replied 
the  traveller. 

He  found  the  hovel  that  served  for  a  stable,  and 
three  horses  already  in  it.  The  place  was  in  com- 
plete darkness,  but  he  felt  his  way  about  and 
learned,  by  cautious  feeling,  that  all  the  horses  were 
saddled  and  bridled. 

"  This  place  is  a  highwayman's  retreat."  he  de- 
cided, and  discretion  urged  him  to  mount  and  gal- 
lop away.  But  the  spirit  of  daring,  which  burned 
in  him  like  a  flame,  would  not  hear  of  so  tame  a 
course.  In  the  manger  of  an  unoccupied  stall  he 
found  a  box  of  grain  and  an  armful  of  hay.  These 
he  promptly  lifted,  and  still  leading  the  gray,  he 
left  the  hovel  and  advanced  upon  the  open  heath. 


The  House  on  the  Heath 


29 


VVithir  a  hundred  yards  of  the  building  he  came 
to  a  small  tree  and  a  clump  of  bushes,  and  here 
he  tied  his  steed,  loosened  its  girths,  and  fed  it. 
Then,  very  quietly,  he  got  the  other  horses  and 
fastened  them  in  the  same  place. 

"  So  far,  so  good,"  he  remarked  to  himself,  and 
after  removing  two  primed  pistols  from  the  hol- 
sters of  a  saddle  and  placing  them  in  his  pock- 
ets, he  returned  to  the  house  and  knocked  on  the 
door. 

The  room  was  wide  and  low,  and  imperfectly 
lighted  by  two  tallow  candles  on  the  table  and  a 
lanthorn   hanging   by    the   chimney.      Despite   the 
saddled   nags  outside,  the  room   showed  no  signs 
of  the  presence  of  guests.     The  old  woman  stood 
by  the  table,  on  which  were  displayed  a  bottle,  a 
platter,  half  a  loaf  and  an  unattractive  fragmwit 
of  cold  mutton.     Beside  the  chimney  sat  a  very 
ancient  maji,  gazing  at  the  ashes  on  the  hearth  and 
tiodding  foolishly.    He  wore  a  shawl  about  his  bent 
shoulders,  a  red  woollen  night-cap  on  his  une.isy 
head,  and  his  thin  legs  were  bare. 

"  You  do  a  lively  business,  dame,"  remarked  the 
traveller,  as  his  glance  searched  every  shadowed 
comer  of  the  room.  "  With  four  horses  in  the 
stable,   and   four  hungry  and  thirsty  men  inside 


wtmmm 


30 


Captain  Love 


h 


i'll 
■  if 


you  must  make  a  pot  of  gold  in  the  run  of  a 
year." 

'*  Not  so,  your  Honour,"  replied  the  hag,  eying 
him  sharply.  "  The  house  is  as  empty  as  the  gaf- 
fer's head,  an'  the  three  nags  you  saw  in  the  stable 
were  put  there  but  an  hour  ago  by  three  strange 
j^entlemen  who,  I'll  swear,  are  up  to  some  devil- 
ment or  other.  They  were  London  gentry,  I  take 
it,  and  very  frisky  with  liquor.  They  went  run- 
ning ofif  across  the  heath  like  schoolboys,  without 
so  much  as  tellin'  me  nor  the  gaffer  their  names, 
nor  when  they'd  be  back  for  their  hordes." 

The  traveller  seated  himself  on  a  stool  near  the 
table,  with  one  shoulder  to  the  old  woman,  one  to 
the  old  man,  and  his  face  to  a  ladder  which  led 
from  a  corner  of  the  room  to  the  loft  above. 

"  Men  act  very  queerly,  when  in  liquor,"  he  said, 
pretending  to  believe  the  hag's  feeble  lie.  "  For 
my  own  part,  I  never  drink  except  when  I  am  flat 
on  my  back,  in  bed."  he  continued,  pleasantly. 
"  It's  a  trick  I  learned  in  the  Low  Countries,  when 
I  was  soldiering  there.  Then  the  liquor  lies  quiet, 
midway  between  your  head  and  your  feet,  and  is 
comfortably  digested  by  reveille.  But  when  a  man 
drinks  standing,  the  stuff  goes  to  his  feet,  and  gets 
shaken  about,  and  soon  the  bubbles  are  rising  and 


J      r 


The  House  on  the  Heath  31 


bursting  in  his  head,  and  making  him  act  like  the 
gentlemen  who  left  their  nags  in  your  stable." 

The  woman  eyed  him  suspiciously,  but  his  face 
was  as  innocent  as  a  child's.  The  old  man  turned 
from  his  contemplation  of  the  cold  ashes  on  the 
hearth. 

"  Rip  my  innards,"  he  piped. 

The  traveller  was  busy  with  the  bread  and  mut- 
ton and  paid  no  heed  to  his  host's  exclamation. 

"  Of  all  the  whopfy  •  I  ever  did  hear  — an'  I've 
heard  a-plenty." 

"Don't  you  begin  a-talkin'.  You  shut  your 
mouth,"  snapped  the  woman. 

"  Nay,  now,  Sue,"  objected  the  old  fellow. 

"  Nay.  now,  wouldn't  you  let  me  join  in  a  social 
talk,  ril  let  nothin'  slip,  girl,  that'll  get  you  an' 
the  gang  into  trouble." 

The  woman  skipped  across  the  room  and  fairly 
snarled  a  word  in  his  ear.  Whatever  the  word  was, 
It  reduced  him  immediately  to  his  former  silence 
and  foolish  contemplation  of  the  hearth. 

"  Bill  has  been  a  good  husband  to  me,"  she  said 
returning  to  the  Uble,  "  but  his  head  isn't  right,' 
an'  gets  more  an'  more  wrong  every  day,  an'  full 
of  all  manner  of  queer  notions.  He's  been  a  soldier 
too,  has  Bill,  and  fought  for  his  king  an'  country, 


f 


'1 

I: 


i 

.1' 


32 


Captain  Love 


like  your  Honour.  But  you  haven't  drunk  your 
wine,  sir.  That's  good  wine,  too,  what  I  keep  a  few 
bottles  of  for  gentry  like  yourself." 

"  I'll  take  it  along  to  bed  with  me,  dame  —  and 
two  more  like  it,  if  you'll  be  so  kind,"  said  the 
traveller.  He  took  a  gold  piece  from  his  pocket 
and  laid  it  on  the  table.  "  Two  more  bottles  like 
this,"  he  said.  "  and  you  can  keep  the  silver.  Hurry 
it  along,  dame,  for  I  am  ready  for  my  bed." 

The  hag  snatched  the  coin  from  the  table,  ex- 
amined it  closely  and  popped  it  into  a  bag  at  her 
girdle. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  two  shakes."  she  said,  and 
hastened  from  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
her.  The  old  man  immediately  turned  in  his  seat 
and  beckoned  to  the  traveller,  who,  needing  no  sec- 
ond bidding,  stepped  noiselessly  across  to  him. 

"Don't  you  get  into  that  bed,"  mumbled  the 
gaflfer.  "Don't  so  much  as  touch  it,  for  God's 
sake." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ?  "  whispered  the  gentleman, 
with  a  break  in  his  voice. 

But  the  gaffer  would  say  no  more,  and  motioned 
him  to  return  to  his  seat. 

"  This  is  buying  experience  at  a  high  price."  re- 


rS\'>m    •aE^M«ITO.'i^-t'.:5!W  .-^'^^-ft'^lt^ii 


The  House  on  the  Heath 


33 


fleeted  the  traveller.  "  This  is  worse  than  I  ex- 
pected, and  cursed  uncanny.  The  old  woman  is  a 
devil,  I  do  believe  — and  I'd  give  half  my  bagful 
of  gold  to  be  safe  out  of  it.  Lord,  what  a  fool  I 
was  to  thrust  my  head  into  this  damnable  hole." 

But  upon  the  return  of  the  old  woman  with  the 
two  bottles  of  wine,  he  seemed  as  bland  and  un- 
shaken as  ever.  With  a  smile  and  a  bow,  he  re- 
lieved the  hag  of  the  bottles. 

"Now,  dame,  I  am  ready  for  a  good  night's 
sleep,"  he  said, 

"  I'll  show  your  Honour  to  as  fine  a  bed  as  there 
is  in  the  country,"  she  replied.  "  I  always  keep  it 
clean  and  fresh,  for  such  as  you." 

The  gaffer  stirred  uneasily  by  the  cold  hearth. 
The  dame  took  one  of  the  candles  from  the  table, 
and  led  the  way  down  the  full  length  of  the  room,' 
to  a  door  in  the  wall  beside  the  ladder.  The  trav- 
eller, who  had  expected  to  be  asked  to  ascend  to  the 
loft,  with  the  chance  of  receiving  a  blow  on  the 
head  as  he  popped  it  through,  felt  decidedly  re- 
heved.  On  the  threshold  he  took  the  candle  from 
the  dame's  hand,  but  cast  an  apprehensive  glance 
ciround  the  interior  before  stepping  within.  What 
he  saw  was  a  fair-sized  chamber,  very  neat  and 


M',A,''.''*^^iL.' 


34 


,  r. 


Captain  Love 


clean,  with  one  window,  furniture  consisting  of  a 
chair,  a  table,  and  a  great  bed  with  curtains  of  silk. 
It  all  looked  innocent  enough.  Heaven  knows. 

"  'Tis  the  chamber  I  keep  for  the  quality,"  re- 
marked the  hag,  following  her  guest's  glance  with 
an  evil  smile.  "  An  earl  has  slept  in  that  bed,  an' 
a  general  officer,  and  two  fashionables  from  Lon- 
don —  an'  they  made  no  complaints." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  fit  for  a  duke,"  replied  the 
traveller. 

"  A  duke?    Is  your  Honour  a  duke?  " 

"  No,  dame,  I  am  a  poor  soldier." 

"  Good  night,  colonel,  an'  sweet  dreams  to  you." 

"  Good  night,  dame." 


1 1 


CHAPTER   IV 

A   FACE  AND   A    DREAM 

The  nameless  gentleman  set  his  candle  and  wine 
on  the  table  beside  the  bed,  then  returned  to  the 
door  and  cautiously  shot  the  bolt.    The  words  of 
the  old  man  by  the  hearth  nad  stirred  him  to  un- 
easmess  verging  on  fear,  and  to  a  sense  of  the 
danger  of  his  position  more  keenly  than  had  the 
three  saddled  horses  in  the  stable  and  the  sinister 
eyes  and  behaviour  of  the  old  woman.     In  the 
warning  against  the  great  bed  was  something  that 
chilled  his  marrow.     He  was  not  afraid  to  take 
chances  with  the  owners  of  the  nags  in  the  stable; 
but  to  suspect  danger  from  a  piece  of  furniture - 
that  was  the  very  devil.    It  came  to  his  mind  that 
somewhere  and  sometime,  he  had  heard  tales  of 
travellers  vanishing  suddenly  from  lonely  inns  •   of 
strange  and  terrible  contrivances  set  in  wardrobes 
and  bedsteads;   of  floors  falling  from  under  one's 
feet,  and  ceilings  descending  and  smothering-    of 
sweet  potent  drugs  at  one's  rostrils  and  knives  stab. 

86 


;i 


I'll 


il 


I  ' 


36 


Captain  Love 


iN 


bing  a  man  from  his  sleep  and  stabbing  him  back 
to  a  longer  slumber.  Such  thoughts,  in  that  still 
and  dim-lit  room,  rasped  his  nerves  and  bedewed 
his  body  with  the  sweat  of  fear.  With  shaking 
and  fumbling  hands  he  removed  his  boots,  and  drew 
forth  his  pistols.  He  made  a  slow  circuit  of  the 
chamber,  searching  the  walls  for  a  peep-hole  or 
hidden  door.  Failing  to  discover  anything  of  the 
kind,  he  crossed  to  the  window.  It  was  unbarred 
and  unfastened,  and  opened  low  on  the  side  of  the 
tavern  toward  the  stables.  It  possessed  no  inner 
fastenings  by  which  it  might  be  held  against  an 
attack  from  without.  Even  should  the  bed  prove  a 
safe  resting-place,  the  owners  of  the  horses  in  the 
stable  would  have  but  little  trouble  in  dealing  with 
the  sleeper. 

Dawn  was  growing,  pale  and  gray,  between  the 
edge  of  the  sky  and  the  edge  of  the  desolate  heath. 
The  nameless  gentleman  placed  his  boots  and  pis- 
tols on  the  floor,  close  to  the  window.  Then,  mov- 
ing on  tip-toe,  he  parted  the  curtains  of  the  bed  and 
gazed  fearfully  within.  He  could  see  nothing  but 
the  sheen  of  fine  linen,  and  the  bulking  of  white 
pillows  at  the  head.  A  fragrance  of  sweet  herbs 
stole  across  his  face.  With  the  greatest  caution,  he 
lifted  the  table  and  laid  it  in  the  middle  of  the  bed; 


"  STRUCK  HIS  HEWILDEKEU  PURSUER  TO  THE  GROUND." 


4 


i. 


V 


I  ( 


f' 


i*«i'  >-.-t  ^- «» .hK .'jmaoi^  %•:»  r 


A  Face  and  a  Dream 


37 


then  returning  to  the  window,  he  drew  on  his  boots, 
recovered  his  pistols,  and  waited,  keeping  a  sharp 
watch  both  within  and  without,  and  his  ears  as  alert 
as  his  eyes. 

He  had  stood  so  for  ten  minutes,  perhaps,  when 
a  thin,  clicking  sound  from  the  bed  caught  his  at- 
tention.     This    was    followed    immediately   by    a 
sharp,  metallic  clang,  a  jarring  underfoot  and  a 
loud  splash  in  hidden  depths  beneath  the  floor.    A 
brief  silence  followed,  which  was  broken  horribly 
by  a  peal  of  shrill  and  devilish  laughter  from  some- 
where in  the  interior  of  the  house.     The  nameless 
traveller  threw  open  the  window,  leapt  out  and  ran 
at  the  top  of  his  speed  for  the  thicket  in  which  he 
had  left  the  four  horses.    He  had  not  covered  more 
than  half  the  distance  when  the  sound  of  hoofs 
reached   his  ears.     Looking  eastward,   he  saw  a 
horseman  spurring  forward  a  jaded  nag,  as  if  to 
cut  him  off  from  his  goal.     He  dashed  on,  reached 
the  thicket,  unfastened  all  the  horses  and  mounted 
the  gray.     Slapping  one  of  the  other  nags  across 
the  rump,  he  sent  it  plunging  into  the  open,  where 
it  was  greeteu  and  missed  by  a  charge  from  the 
belated  highwayman's  pistol.     Setting  spur  to  the 
gray,  he  galloped  out,  and  struck  his  bewildered  pur- 
suer to  the  ground.     Still  at  the  charge,  he  bore 


38 


Captain  Love 


fc 


down  upon  that  iniquitous  tavern.  A  window  flew 
open ;  but  instead  of  the  hag,  he  saw  the  pale,  hor- 
ror-stricken face  of  a  girl.  As  he  galloped  past  he 
kept  his  eyes  upon  her,  wide  with  astonishment  and 
admiration.  In  a  moment  the  clay  of  the  by-road 
was  under  his  horse's  feet,  and  he  was  speeding 
toward  safety,  and  daylight,  and  the  king's  high- 
way. 

The  nameless  gentleman  was  weary,  hungry  and 
sleepy,  but  for  all  his  physical  discomfort  he  could 
not  keep  his  mind  from  dwelling  upon  the  pale, 
terror-stricken  face  at  the  tavern  window.  What 
was  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  doing  in  that 
den  of  thieves? 

"  Damn  it,  I'll  find  out,"  said  he.  "  When  I  get 
more  firmly  established  in  the  world,"  he  added, 
remembering  what  an  unpleasant  night  he  had  just 
passed  through,  and  that,  for  all  he  knew,  he  had 
not  a  friend  in  the  land. 

"  But  here  is  a  little  friendship,"  he  said,  rapping 
the  leathern  bag  of  gold  with  his  knuckles ;  and  he 
fell  to  pondering  on  the  value  of  money,  and  trying 
to  remember  something  of  his  past  experiences  with 
it. 

"  My  friend  of  Nullwood  Lower  Farm  worked 
hard  for  a  very  little  of  it,"  he  reflected.    "  I  and 


A  Face  and  a  Dream 


39 


my  lost  friend  were  knocked  on  the  head  — and 
that  was  for  our  money  and  our  rings,  I'll  swear. 
I  overcame  a  robber,  took  his  bag  of  gold,  and  ex- 
perienced a  very  comfortable  sensation  at  the  touch 
of  it.  I  bought  wine  from  that  devilish  old  hag 
with  a  piece  of  metal ;  and,  for  the  lust  of  more 
of  that  metal,  she  sought  to  drop  me  into  a  tank 
of  water  beneath  her  accursed  house.  Gad,  but 
this  money  is  a  strange  thing,  and  a  man  seems  to 
be  in  as  great  danger  from  having  it  as  from  lack- 
ing it." 

These  philosophical  reflections,  however,  failed 
to  keep  his  mind,  for  more  than  a  few  minutes, 
from  the  face  he  had  espied  at  the  window. 
Though  it  had  gleamed  upon  his  view  for  so  brief 
a  time  —  for  five  seconds  perhaps,  as  his  gray 
charged  past  — it  remained  bright  and  clear-cut 
to  his  inner  vision.  The  expression  of  terror 
had  deprived  the  pale  features  of  nothing  of  their 
beauty. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  murmured,  and  then  swore  vio- 
lently. "  Such  a  thing  could  never  be,"  he  added, 
and  drove  the  suspicion  from  him  with  another 
oath. 

The  sun  was  clear  of  the  horizon  when  he  entbred 
a  village  on  the  outskirts  of  the  great  town.    Here, 


40 


Captain  Love 


! 


\fi 


u 


at  a  neat  inn  set  beneath  the  shade  of  elms,  he 
breakfasted  at  his  ease  and  then  retired  to  an  honest 
bed  in  a  bright,  cool  room  above  the  fragrance  and 
soft  noises  of  a  little  garden.  For  a  long  time  he 
lay  in  a  half-doze,  deliciously  comfortable,  his 
limbs  extended  at  their  full  length  and  every  tired 
muscle  relaxed.  The  stirring  of  a  little  wind  at  the 
lattice,  the  droning  of  bees  and  the  light  move- 
ments of  birds  in  the  garden  foliage  and  from 
somewhere  in  the  village  street  the  voices  of  old 
men,  softened  by  distance,  soothed  his  half-heedless 
ears.  The  sheets  of  the  bed  felt  cool  and  smooth 
to  his  body,  the  very  skin  of  which  was  tired.  The 
adventures  and  terrors  of  the  past  night  slipped 
from  his  brain,  leaving  it  at  peace. 

In  a  sweet  half-consciousness,  he  felt  himself 
sinking  into  slumber  as  into  a  magic  sea,  from  one 
bright  depth  to  another.  And,  at  last,  it  was  as  if 
fathoms  of  sleep,  clear  and  alive  like  the  waters  of 
a  tropic  sea,  were  over  him.  Faces,  at  once  strange 
and  half-familiar,  crowded  about  him.  Presently 
he  walked  alone  in  a  rose-garden,  at  about  the  time 
of  the  falling  of  dusk,  and  his  heart  was  eager  and 
glad.  The  path  turned  among  the  roses  and  clipped 
shrubberies  and,  following  it.  he  came  to  a  bench 
under  an  arbour  of  honeysuckles.    And  there,  with 


A  Face  and  a  Dream 


41 


averted  face,  sat  the  object  of  his  eager  search.  He 
knew  that  she  was  waiting  for  hi/n;  and  so  mad 
was  his  joy  at  finding  her  that  the  dusky  garden 
seemed  to  waver,  like  a  tide,  in  his  vision.  He 
paused  for  a  moment,  to  steady  himself,  and  the 
scent  of  the  roses  was  sweet  on  the  still  air.  He 
stooped  and  plucked  one  of  the  blooms;  and  then 
it  came  to  him  that  the  roses  had  been  only  in  bud 
when  he  was  last  in  the  garden.  As  he  stood,  with 
the  flower  in  his  hand,  the  girl  in  the  arbour  turned 
her  familiar,  incomparable  face  to  him. 

"  Is  it  —  you?  "  she  asked,  scarce  above  a  whis- 
per. 

For  answer,  he  ran  forward  and  knelt  close  to 
her,  snatching  one  of  her  hands  to  his  lips. 

"I  have  waited  here,  night  after  night,  and 
prayed  that  you  would  forgive  me  — and  come 
back,"  she  said. 

He  raised  his  head  at  that,  and  gazed  at  her  face. 
"  I  could  not  stay  away  any  longer,"  he  said.  "  My 
heart  brought  me  home  to  you." 

"  Tt  !s  like  a  dream,"  she  whispered.  And  then 
—  '  i-erhaps  it  is  a  dream." 

The  woman,  the  arbour  and  the  garden  whirled 
away  in  blackness.  He  felt  an  ungentle  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  a  voice  bawling  in  his  ear.     He 


43 


Captain  Love 


i 


-  ■ 


1 
I 


3*1 


flung  out  his  arm,  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  opened 
his  eyes  upon  the  bright  httle  room  above  the  inn- 
^'irdei  .  The  landlord  was  stooping  over  him, 
shcmtinif  that  'twas  past  noon,  a?^'1  dinner  spoiling. 
The  ;^ar  .eless  gentleman  lay  quiet  for  a  second  or 
t-Ao,  star  ng  wide-eyed  at  his  bn'ky  host,  his  sou! 
loajT!!  hack  U  the  dusky  garden  of  roses  and  his 
heart  and  mind  still  enthralled  1  y  the  <lream.  Or 
was  this  tl,  dream?  —  this  and  the  adventurous 
night,  the  events  oi  which  came  nain fully  back  to 
his  memory?  He  felt  the  linen  sheets,  between  his 
fingers,  and  looked  at  tlie  dood  of  noon  sunshine 
on  the  floor.  He  sat  up  and  poked  at  the  landl'  "d's 
vast  waistcoat  with  an  ir-nuring  foreiliiger.  No, 
these  things  we-"  real. 

"  To  the  devil  vith  you  and  your  dinner  "  he 
cried,  in  sudden  pa;,sion.  '  Out  of  here,  you  rogue, 
or  I'll  lay  a  whip  on  you  for  disturbing  my     eep." 

The  big  inn  ceeper  drew  back  fron  the  bed  in 
injured  amazemer.t. 

"What  ails  you?"  he  asked.     "  Yc    to'd  o 

wake  you  at  noon,  an'  have  your  pi  ready  m' 
dinner  on  the  table.  I've  done  your  idding.  i'm 
a  man  of  substance,  I  am,  an'  'ill  not  i  e  cursed  'ly 
even  whipper-snapper  who  spends  a  si  in'  at  my 
house."  i 


A  Face  and  ^  Dream 


43 


But  the  nainelesii  gentleman  hearr<  not  a  word  of 
that  indignant  and  indepenaent  eply.  His  spirit 
was  harking  back  —his  mind  was  searching  for 
some  fidgment  Oi  uie  lost  dn  n,  only  the  divine 
fragrani.c  of      u  h  remained  to  him. 

"B  G  4,  I  have  forgotten  her  face  already," 
he  CXI      r^       a  shaking  voice. 


CHAPTER   V 


ii )  • 


hit 


THE   NAMELESS   GENTLEMAN    FINDS   A   NAME 

For  a  week  the  nameless  gentleman  lived  very 
quietly  in  London.  On  the  eighth  day,  and  about 
three  hours  past  noon,  he  left  the  quiet  house  in 
which  he  lodged  and  took  his  way  to  the  Strand. 
Would  the  lass  of  Nullvvood  Lower  Farm  have 
known  this  dandy  for  her  unfortunate  charge,  I 
wonder?  What  miracles  the  tailors  and  barber  had 
accomplished.  He  wore  a  light  sword  and  carried 
a  cane  of  the  latest  mode.  From  his  three-cornered 
hat  to  his  buckled  shoes  he  was  garbed  in  the  rich- 
est materials  and  the  nicest  taste.  The  fine  lace  at 
his  wrists  almost  hid  his  slender  hands.  On  one 
finger  he  wore  a  signet  ring  which  he  had  found 
among  the  coins  in  the  highwayman's  pocket.  The 
design  on  the  stone  was  a  charger  trippant.  The 
motto  rea<l.  "  Expectans  equito." 

"  Who  can  say  that  it  is  not  my  own  ring  and 
my  own  crest."  he  had  said,  when  first  considering 
it.    "  And  the  motto,  '  Waiting,  I  ride,'  surely  suits 

44 


Finds  a  Name 


45 


my  uncommon  case.    It  comes  back  to  me.    It  is 
familiar." 

He  strolled  along  like  one  in  a  glorious  dream. 
He  met  the  eyes  of  other  gentlemen  attired  as  mag- 
nificently as  himself.  Ladies  went  by  in  their 
chairs;  and  he  caught  glimpses  of  a  bewildering 
variety  of  faces.  The  noise  and  the  colour  rang 
around  him  like  the  music  of  a  song ;  and,  smiling 
a  little,  he  murmured :  — 

"  Sweet,  your  name  I  do  not  know  — 
Queen  of  London  village." 

Presently,  on  the  heels  of  three  other  exquisites, 
he  entered  what  he  correctly  surmised  to  be  a  place 
of  public  entertainment.  It  proved  to  be  a  no  less 
fashionable  resort  than  "  Babcock's."  With  a  fine 
assurance,  he  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and 
sat  down  at  a  table  already  occupied  by  a  short, 
rotund  gentleman  in  a  lilac  waistcoat.  A  servant 
approached  and  stood  deferentially  at  attention. 

"  Cocoa,"  said  the  short  gentleman. 

"  Cocoa,"  said  the  nameless  gentleman. 

The  other  eyed  him  with  a  near-sighted  squint. 

"  There  you  are  wise,  sir,"  said  he.  "  No  one 
else  in  town  serves  that  good  beverage  so  desirably 
as  does  our  excellent  friend  Babcock.  But  my  own 
fellow  has  a  fair  hand  at  it." 


46 


Captain  Love 


%' 


Just  then  a  third  gallant  seated  himself  at  the 
table.  His  air  suggested  a  curious  blending  of 
pride,  affability  and  sadness.  "  How  goes  the 
great  work,  Percy?"  he  inquired. 

"  As  fast  as  I  can  lay  pen  to  paper,"  replied  he 
of  the  lilac  waistcoat. 

"  What?    With  no  time  given  to  research?  " 

"  The  whole  matter  is  in  my  head.  Sir  John." 

The  gentleman  who  had  put  the  questions  in- 
dulged in  a  pinch  of  snuflf  and  a  smile  of  skepticism. 

"  My  dear  Percy,"  said  he,  "  though  your  head 
is  large,  I  doubt  if  it  can  hold  th?  armorial  bear- 
ings of  all  the  gentlemen  in  England." 

The  conceited  scribe  tapped  his  forehead. 

"  I  assure  you  they  are  all  here,"  he  said. 

At  thi>  our  nameless  gentleman,  in  a  very  reck- 
less spirit,  extended  the  hand  upou  which  he  wore 
the  signet. 

"  Five  pounds,  sir,  that  you  fail  to  tell  me  my 
name,"  he  said. 
"  Ha,  my  dear  Percy!  "  exclaimed  Sir  John. 
Percy  examined  the  ring. 
"  This  is  yours  ?  "  he  queried. 
Our  hero  nodded  assent. 
"  Then  your  name  is  Love,"  said  the  other. 


Finds  a  Name 


47 


'« 
^ 


The  gentleman  from  Nullwood  Lower  Farm 
arose  and  bowed. 

"  Captain  Love,  at  your  service,"  said  he,  with- 
out a  tremor  in  his  voice;  and  he  laid  five  gold 
coins  on  the  table. 

The  others  got  to  their  feet  and  bowed  in  turn. 

"  Sir  John  Petre,"  said  the  compiler,  indicating 
his  companion  with  a  wave  of  a  fat  hand. 

"  Mr.  Percy  Hyde,"  said  Sir  John. 

The  three  resumed  their  seats  and  drew  their 
chairs  closer  together.  "A  son  of  Sir  William 
Love?"  queried  Hyde. 

The  alleged  captain's  wits  bestirred  themselves. 

"No,  I  am  of  a  younger  branch."  he  replied. 
"  My  father  is  a  country  parson.  I  am  but  lately 
returned  from  the  Ea.st.    My  name  is  Richard." 

He  was  inwardly  amazed  at  his  own  power  of 
invention;  but  nothing  of  the  amazement  showed 
in  his  face. 

"Of  what  regiment,  Captain?"  inquired  Sir 
John  Petre. 

"Of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey's  Hous^'hold  Guards," 
replied  Captain  Love,  with  a  rare  smile. 

"Lord,  a  Turk!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hyde,  and 
swallowed  his  cocoa. 


■WBwr 


48 


Captain  Love 


«^' 


f 


"  You  do  not  look  like  a  Turk,"  he  added. 

"  You've  not  seen  me  in  my  turban  and  —  and 
slippers,"  said  the  captain. 

"  In  that  costume  —  with,  I  presume,  a  few  ad- 
ditional garments  in  between  "  —  said  the  baronet, 
"  you  would  take  the  town  by  storm." 

"By  Heaven,"  cried  the  captain,  with  a  fine 
show  of  heat,  "  no  man  alive  shall  ever  again  see 
me  drex?ed  like  a  Turk  — my  exile  is  at  an  end." 

"And  how  long  do  you  intend  to  remain  in 
town  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hyde. 

"Until  I  tire  of  it,"  replied  the  other,  good 
naturedly;  but  with  a  quick  lifting  of  the  brows 
that  did  not  escape  the  observant  eyes  of  Sir  John. 

"  Then  we'll  see  that  you  do  not  tire  of  it  within 
a  year,"  said  Sir  John  Petre,  kindly. 

His  liking  for  this  son  of  a  parson —  this  ad- 
venturer out  of  the  Orient  — was  as  strong  as  it 
was  sudden. 

Mr.  Hyde  nodded. 

"  U  Sir  John  says  you'll  not  tire  of  it,  then  spit 
my  vitals  if  you  do,"  said  he,  "  for  there's  not  a 
beauty  nor  a  wit  in  the  town  to  whom  he  cannot 
open  you  the  door." 

"  And  Percy  will  give  you  their  pedigrees,"  said 
Sir  John. 


A_ 


.-.:VV 


Finds  a  Name 


49 


"  I  cannot  promise  you  that,"  retorted  Mr.  Hyde, 
with  a  shrewd  wink. 

**  Tut,  tut,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  with  a  shade 
of  displeasure  in  his  fine  face. 

Hyde  turned  to  their  new  acquaintance. 
"  We  have  done  our  duty  by  this  excellent  but 
uninspiring  drink,"  said  he,  "  and  now  I  suggest 
that  we  step  up-stairs." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  captain,  without  the  least 
idea  of  what  stepping  up-stairs  might  lead  to. 

On  the  second  floor  of  "  Babcock's  "  were  eight 
rooms.     These  were  devoted  to  piaying-cards  and 
dice,  the  weapons  of  that  ancient  goddess.  Chance. 
"  Here  is  the  devil's  own  den."  said  Sir  John,  in 
the  captain's  ear. 
"  Shall  we  play  or  Icxak  on  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hyde. 
"  Why,"  said  Captain  Love,  "  I  have  nothing 
against  the  dice." 

Sir  John  Petre  smiled  pensively. 
"You  are  young,  my  friend,  and  fresh   from 
Turkey,"  he  said.    "  But  let  us  first  see  how  Buck- 
ley is  faring  to-day." 

They  followed  him  over  to  a  table  at  which  two 
men  were  seated.  Lord  Buckley  was  a  large  man 
with  an  imposing  presence  and  a  bloated  face.  His 
companion  was  younger,  smaller,  and  pale  as  death. 


M- 


! 


50 


Captain  Love 


He  g  *:  up  from  his  chair  on  the  approach  of  the 
three. 

"  Finisheu,  by  God,"  he  muttered,  and  left  the 
room  without  a  word  of  farewell  to  the  earl. 

Six  hours  later,  Sir  John  Petre  and  Captain  Love 
stepped  out  of  "  Babcock's."  A  fog  had  come  in 
with  the  night  and  the  street  was  like  a  pit. 

"  I  believe  we  have  Buckley's  winnings  for  a 
week  in  our  pockets,"  said  Sir  John.  "  So  we'll 
let  my  two  fellows  here  walk  behind  us,  and  this 
lad  with  the  link  lead  the  way." 

"  The  earl  did  not  lose  like  a  gentleman,"  said 
Love. 

"  Gentleman !  "  cried  Petre.  "  My  friend,  he  has 
never  done  anything  like  a  gentleman  in  all  his  ugly 
life." 

They  walked  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence.  The 
captain  leaned  to  his  companion. 

"  You  are  wonderfully  good  to  take  me  home  to 
supper  —  and  only  on  Mr.  Hyde's  word  as  to  my 
respectability." 

"  And  your  word,  Dick,  which  is  more  to  me 
than  Mr.  Hyde's,"  replied  the  baronet. 

The  captain  felt  a  twinge,  and  his  heart  prompted 
him  to  make  a  true  statement  of  his  position  to  his 
new  friend.     But  his  brain  argued  that  he  was 


;$£$', 


V^^;; 


Finds  a  Name 


51 


honest  in  naming  himself  a  gentleman,  and  that  he 
who  plays  a  game  with  Fate  must  let  no  ntage 

slip.  As  to  "  Love  "  —  why,  a  man  m  nvt  a 
name;  and  if  this  were  not  the  true  namt,  ten  to 
one  his  was  a  greater.  But  the  fiction  of  the  Sul- 
tan's body-guard  stuck  in  his  crop.  It  was  an  in- 
artistic lie,  at  best,  and  he  blushed  to  think  of  hav- 
ing befooled  Sir  John  with  so  silly  a  tale. 


i 


CHAPTER   VI 


.M 


SIR   JOHN  S   TOWN   ESTABLISHMENT 

Sir  John  Petre  lived  in  a  rented  house  in  a 
street  oflf  the  Strand ;  but  his  home  was  in  Dorset. 
His  widowed  sister,  a  Mrs.  Padding^on,  of  Somer- 
set, and  a  younger  sister,  M'ss  Dorothy,  managed 
his  town  establishment  for  him.  They  had  but  lately 
come  to  London;  and  had  left  Lady  Petre,  the 
witlow  of  the  late  baronet,  and  her  younger  son,  at 
home  in  Dorset.  Sir  John  was  a  man  of  good 
estate,  scholarly  habits  and  distinguished  appear- 
ance. But  he  had  not  attained  the  age  of  thirty- 
four  with  an  unscarred  heart.  Seven  years  previ- 
ous to  his  meeting  with  Captain  Love,  he  had 
wooed  and  won  a  lady  of  his  county  and  had  lost 
her,  in  a  fatality  of  the  hunting-field,  just  a  fort- 
night before  the  date  set  for  their  wedding.  This 
tragedy  had  wrought  many  changes  '  the  young 
baronet's  mind  and  life.  From  a  somev.  'at  boister- 
ods  blade  he  was  become  a  quiet  and  reserved 
scholar.     It  had  turned  him  from  his  own  affairs 

a 


Sir  John's  Town  Establishment       53 


to  the  copsideration  of  matters  concerning  his 
mother  and  sisters.  The  shock  received  by  his  own 
heart  had  inclined  it  to  the  sorrow  of  other  hearts; 
and  charity  toward  all  men  had  taken  the  place  of 
the  former  spirit  of  jovial  good-fellowship.  Some- 
thing of  the  tenderness  that  he  had  lavished  upon 
the  poor  lady  of  his  choice  he  now  bestowed  upon 
his  younger  sister,  Dorothy.  It  pleased  him  to 
fancy  a  resemblance  between  the  living  girl  and  the 
dead  beauty ;  and  one  morning,  years  after  his  loss, 
on  meeting  his  sister  in  the  great  hall  at  Willing- 
ton,  slender  and  bright  and  eager  for  the  saddle,  he 
had  turned  away  in  an  agony  of  tears. 

This  was  the  man  to  whose  heart  and  board  Cap- 
tain Love  had  won  so  swift  a  passage. 

Supper  was  served  in  a  small  room  ofif  the  dining- 
hall.  The  table  was  oval,  and  of  ruddy  mahogany. 
The  lights  of  the  shaded  candles  threw  pools  of 
liquid  fire  deep  into  the  polished  surface.  The  rare 
china  and  chaste  silver  were  lit  to  star-shine  at  a 
dozen  curves  and  angles.  A  fire  burned  on  the 
bright  hearth,  against  the  chill  of  the  fog.  One 
noiseless  servitor  was  in  attendance. 

Sir  John  sat  at  one  end  of  the  oval  table  and  Mrs. 
Paddington  at  the  other;  and  opposite  Captain 
Love,  with  her  dainty  shoulders  against  the  light, 


f4 


i  '. 


,        ' 


54 


Captain  Love 


sat  Mistress  Dorothy.  To  the  eyes  of  the  young 
gentleman  who  had  so  lately  been  nameless  and 
friendless,  she  was  a  very  miracle  of  loveliness.  To 
describe  her  as  she  appeared  to  him  —  a  poet 
flushed  with  new  adventures  —  is  beyond  my  art. 

The  conversation  was  light  and  cheery,  and  Cap- 
tain Lx>ve  maintained  his  share  of  it  with  wit  and 
grace.  But  when  Sir  John  put  him  a  question  con- 
cerning Turkey,  he  flushed  guiltily. 

"  Let  me  forget  it,"  he  said,  recovering  himself. 
He  fancied  that  a  smiling  glance  passed  between 
Mrs.  Paddington  and  her  brother.  In  certain 
things  the  reputation  of  that  country  was  then  even 
worse  than  it  is  to-day.  The  bare  thought  of  it, 
to  the  young  gentleman,  under  the  existing  circum- 
stances, was  as  if  he  had  played  at  dice  on  the  altar 
of  a  cathedral.  He  inwardly  lamented  the  indis- 
cretion of  his  story.  What  evil  genius  had  set 
his  tongue  to  that  accursed  country,  when  all  the 
kingdoms  and  empires  of  the  earth  had  been  as 
equally  at  his  service.  He  raised  his  eyes  and 
between  the  branched  candlesticks  encountered  the 
grave  and  curious  regard  of  the  young  girl.  For  a 
moment  their  glances  held,  then  wavered  shyly; 
and  the  young  gentleman  of  the  world  was  the  first 
to  bow  his  head.    His  diffidence  must  have  been  due 


i  f 


Sir  John's  Town  Establishment       55 


to  instinct  rather  than  shame ;  for  surely,  with  only 
a  few  weeks  of  Hfe  to  look  back  upon,  he  could 
afford  to  carry  himself  with  better  assurance,  even 
under  the  eyes  of  so  young  and  fa.r  a  woman  as 
Dorothy  Petre. 

The  evening  passed  all  too  swirtly  ire  Captain 
Love,  He  sat  in  a  glow,  like  ore  who  finds  the 
hearth  of  home  at  the  end  of  a  winter's  journey  — 
like  one  pinched  with  hunger  who  is  of  a  sudden 
ushered  in  to  a  banquet.  But  they  were  the  hands 
of  the  spirit  that  warmed  themselves  at  the  glow, 
and  the  cravings  of  the  spirit  that  were  satisfied 
at  the  banquet.  For  an  hour  he  sat  in  a  shadowy 
corner  and  listened  to  Dorothy's  singing  and  Mrs. 
Paddington's  playing  on  the  spinet. 

After  the  music,  a  card-table  was  drawn  forth 
and  the  liitle  company  sat  down  to  a  game  of  whist. 
Fate,  in  the  cutting  of  the  pack,  made  partners  of 
Dorothy  and  the  captain,  "  Penny  points,"  said 
Mrs.  Padilington,  as  she  dealt  the  cards. 

Captain  Love,  with  no  recollection  of  ever  hav- 
ing seen  the  game  before,  found  himself  speedily 
acquainted  with  the  rules.  He  pla)ed  his  cards 
with  less  coolness  than  he  had  displayed  earlier  in 
the  day  when  fortunes  were  at  stake.  Silence 
seemed  to  be  the  presiding  genius  of  whist,  and 


56 


(     I 


1 


I  1 


i 

r 
i 

rl 

il    f 

n 

1 

n  I 

?  1     ' 

? 

It) 
1' 

!! 

! 

Captain  Love 


when  tongues  are  quiet  eyes  must  serve  as  means 
of  communication.  So  it  happened  that  the  girl 
often  raised  her  eyes  to  her  partner's,  now  in  de- 
fence of  some  doubtfully  advantageous  play,  ag^in 
in  question.  He,  poor  fellow,  soon  found  himself 
anticipating  these  glances  rather  than  the  turning 
of  the  tricks. 

It  was  late  when  Captain  Love  pulled  the  bell 
beside  the  door  of  that  narrow  and  empty  house, 
the  second  floor  of  which  he  had  occupied  for  the 
past  eight  days.  Old  Tom,  whom  he  had  engaged 
with  the  apartments,  and  who  served  indifferently 
as  both  valet  and  groom,  drew  the  bolts  and  ad- 
mitted (lim.  In  his  left  hand  the  old  fellow  held  a 
candle  at  so  eccentric  an  angle  that  the  flame  leaped 
and  sputtered  against  the  rim  of  tallow.  His 
woollen  nightcap  was  all  awry  on  his  gray  head. 
He  groaned  and  grumbled  as  he  closed  the  door 
and  shot  the  bolts.  The  captain  pauset'  t  the  foot 
of  the  stairs. 

"  What  ails  you,  Tom."  he  inquired,  with  a  foot 
on  the  lower  step  and  a  hand  on  the  banister. 

"  Ay,  ye  may  ax."  mumbled  Tom,  "  ye  who  lays 
abed  'til  noon  on  the  finest  feathers,  an'  warms  yer 
young  blood  with  good  wine.    But  if  ye  was  a  poor 


/    ' 


x.-f-^ 


i.m 


Sir  John's  Town  Establishn  <nt       67 


old  serving-man.  sir.  with  the  chill  in  ye  bones  an' 
yer  master  a-ringin'  of  ye  up  past  midnight  —  an' 
you  not  even  knowin'  his  name  —  then  ye'd  know 
what  ailed  ye,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"My  poor  fellow,"  said  the  gentleman,  "your 
complaint  has  a  core  of  reason  to  it.  That  nothing 
is  so  painful  to  the  small  of  intellect  as  unsatisfied 
curiosity,  I  have  heard  or  read  somewhere  or  other. 
I  am  sorry  that  you  and  your  good  dame  have  had 
to  suffer  so  for  the  past  week,  and  now  I  hasten 
to  relieve  you.  My  name  is  Love  —  Captain  Rich- 
ard Love.  My  father  is  a  country  parson  in  the 
North.  Here  is  something  for  you,  my  good  Tom 
—  and  now    i  -^  away  and  tell  your  wife." 

The  servr  lit  i.t,  j  the  gold  coin  close  to  the  candle. 

"  Thank'er  >p';.  Mighty  civil  of  your  Hon- 
our, I'm  sur 

He  looked  his  master  up  and  dow  ; 

"  Lord,  but  I'd  take  'e  for  the  son  ot  a  dook,  sir. 
Kate,  she  said  that,  when  first  she  set  eyes  on  ye; 
but  I  was  thinkin'  maybe  your  Honour  was  a  high- 
wayman." 

The  captain  frowned. 

"  My  man,"  he  said,  coldly.  "  surely  you  do  not 
expect  me  to  explain  to  you  the  reason  for  my 


58 


Captain  Love 


( 


week  of  namelessness.  There  are  difficulties  and 
pits  to  be  avoided  even  in  the  paths  of  gentlefolk. 
Let  that  suffice  you." 

Thereupon  he  took  the  candle  from  Tom's  hand 
and  ascended  the  stairs  to  his  own  rooms,  leaving 
the  impudent  old  servant  to  knock  his  shins  in  the 
dark.  Safe  in  his  own  sitting-room,  which  was  of 
fine  proportions  but  scanty  furnishings,  he  emptied 
his  pocket  of  the  money  he  had  won  at  Babcock's, 
and  mended  the  fire  on  the  hearth.  Then  he  laid 
aside  coat  and  sword,  lit  three  candles  on  the  table, 
and  sat  down.  The  incidents  of  the  day  passed  be- 
fore him,  clear-cut  pictures  astir  with  the  spirit  of 
romance. 

A  fever  was  upon  him  —  a  fine,  reckless,  singing 
fever  of  the  heart  and  brain.  He  took  up  a  quill 
and  dipped  it  in  the  ink. 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  inspiration  is  largely 
a  matter  of  application  —  that  the  Muse  is  a  lady 
who  must  be  ridden  down  and  captured  by  fo.ce 
of  art.  But  sometimes,  even  in  these  sober  times, 
she  comes  to  a  man's  door  of  her  own  accord,  and 
he  has  but  to  open  and  lead  her  in  to  the  fire.  Un- 
expected, even  unsolicited,  had  she  come  to  Captain 
Love.  Perhaps  she  had  been  beside  him  all  day, 
holding  his  vision  clear  and  setting  all  things  to 


)smtam 


Sir  John's  Town  Establishment       59 

music.  Now  she  leaned  over  his  shoulder,  a 
gracious  shade,  and  the  inevitable  word  was  ever 
ready  on  the  point  of  his  pen  and  the  pictures  stood 
bright  and  true  before  him.  He  drew  them  in 
rhymes  —  for  that  seemed  the  easiest  way.  He  re- 
called and  caught  the  spirit  of  gray  streets  crowded 
with  horses  and  sedan-chairs,  and  foot-passengers 
of  various  degrees.  The  whole  cheery  scene  was 
set  down  to  the  most  delightful  rhythm ;  the  beau- 
ties in  the  passing  windows,  like  portraits  in  their 
frames;  the  dandies  with  sword  and  cane;  the 
statesman  in  his  periwig,  and  the  hurrying  appren- 
tice. He  showed  the  elegants  crowding  together  in 
the  coffee-house;  the  players  up-stairs,  seated  at 
the  little  tables;  the  rattle  of  ivory  and  gold;  the 
set,  red  faces  and  the  white ;  the  falling  homesteads 
and  the  full  purses.  And  last,  in  flowing  cadences, 
he  wrote  of  that  which  gives  a  zest  to  all  the  vary- 
ing phases  and  adventures  of  life  —  for  a  full  hour 
he  wrote  of  love.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  a  chill  flooded 
over  his  spirit,  and  the  zest  of  rhyming  went  out 
like  the  flame  of  a  candle  in  a  wind.  His  heart, 
quick  as  thought,  was  turned  from  warmth  and 
gladness  to  a  most  bitter  longing.  Trembling,  he 
wondered  if  ghosts  from  his  lost  past  were  crowd- 
ing around  him. 


CHAPTER   VII 


f 


ft 


BLOWS  AND   FRIENDSHIP 

Captain  Love  spent  a  restless  and  unrefreshing 
night,  tossing  until  dawn  midway  between  sleep 
and  waking.  Hints  that  struggled  to  become  mem- 
ories—  vague  things  that  whispered  and  fled  his 
mind's  grasp — haunted  him  through  the  dark 
hours.  The  successes  of  the  day  were  forgotten,  as 
v.'ere  ihe  fa^^e  of  Dorothy  Petre  and  the  rhymes  he 
had  written.  An  awful  sense  of  unreality  daunted 
his  spirit;  and  frequently,  from  half-slumber  he 
would  bestir  himself,  leave  the  bed  and  gaze  into 
the  night  from  the  open  window.  He  even  lit  a 
candle,  and  set  himself  to  reading  aloud  from  a 
bool'  of  plays;  but  immediately  a  heaviness  of  the 
brain  and  eyelids  drove  him  back  to  bed,  only  to 
leave  him,  next  instant,  wide-eyed  and  aching  with 
unrest.  He  longed  for  dawn,  and  the  wakening  of 
the  town.  He  tried  all  the  old,  time-honoured 
methods  of  tricking  his  mind  to  inaction ;  but  the 
weight  of  nameless  apprehension  would  not  lift  and 

90 


Blows  and  Friendship 


61 


sleep  refused  to  come.  He  recalled  every  incident 
of  the  brief  portion  of  his  life  of  which  he  had  any 
knowledge,  and  in  none  of  them  did  he  find  any 
comfort.  He  had  accepted  the  hospitality  of  a 
yeoman,  and  had  given  nothing  in  return.  He  had 
cracked  the  heads  of  a  couple  of  highwaymen  and 
appropriated  their  ill-gotten  gold  to  his  own  false 
existence.  He  had  played  the  man  of  fashion  very 
prettily,  and  won  a  considerable  sum  of  money  and 
an  honest  man's  regard  —  ay,  and  he  had  found 
himself  a  decent  name  wherewith  to  cloak  his 
nakedness  —  and  yet  the  thought  was  sour  in  his 
mouth.  On  what  dark  sea  was  he  adrift,  with  no 
memories  to  guide  him,  and  a  longing  in  his  heart 
such  as  exiles  must  suffer?  An  exile!  Yes,  for 
was  he  not  torn  from  twenty  good  years  of  life,  — 
from  twenty  years  of  love  and  friendships,  of  ac- 
complishments and  innocent  pleasures.  With  the 
loss  of  memory  might  it  not  be  that  some  things  of 
priceless  value  were  gone  for  ever? 

"  Why  must  I  suffer?  "  he  cried,  rolling  his  head 
on  the  pillow.  "  What  have  I  done  that  Fate 
should  bludgeon  me  thus  ?  God,  it  were  better  that 
I  had  died,  along  with  my  brave  and  unremembered 
friend." 

For  a  little  while  his  heart  was  black  with  re- 


62 


If 


Captain  Love 


1 1 


i     / 


bellion;  but  soon  repentance  came,  and  he  n:nr- 
mured  that  he  was  a  wicked  and  ungenerous  fool  — 
that  he  had  done  nothing,  since  his  awakening  from 
the  mists,  that  any  fool  could  not  have  accomplished 
—  that  he  was  as  useless  to  the  world  as  he  was 
alone  in  it. 

Of  a  sudden  the  pale,  frightened  face  which  he 
had  seen  in  the  window  of  the  tavern  flashed  clear 
to  his  inner  vision.    It  struck  him  like  a  blow. 

"  There  was  work  ready  to  my  hand/  he  cried, 
sitting  straight  up  between  the  tumbled  slieets. 
"  There  was  a  soul  to  help,  if  ever  the  world  held 
such,  and  the  way  pointed  fair  to  an  honourable 
and  humane  deed." 

At  that  moment  he  saw  the  first  lights  of  dawn 
gleaming  pale  across  the  windows,  signalling  him 
to  hope  and  lifting  the  shadows.  He  lay  very 
quiet,  turned  to  the  windows,  and  watched  the  light 
spread  and  brighten,  through  the  great  room.  It 
washed  away  his  vagiie  but  terrible  apprehensicMi 
and,  presently,  sleep  descended  upon  him,  dream- 
less and  deep. 

The  morning  was  well  advanced  when  the  cap- 
tain at  last  awoke.  The  room  was  flooiled  with 
sunshine,  and  the  candle  which  he  had  lit  to  dispel 
the  ghosts  of  the  night  burned  with  a  colourless 


Blows  and  Friendship 


63 


flame  close  to  the  socket  of  the  stick.  He  sprang 
from  the  bed  and  nipped  and  strangled  the  poor 
flame  between  thumb  and  finger.  The  great  town, 
the  sunshine  and  the  zest  of  life  called  to  him. 
With  a  smile,  he  recalled  his  weakness  of  the  daric 
hours,  and  wondered  why  his  spirit  had  been  so 
disturbed.  Why  had  he  trembled,  he  asked  himself. 
Youth  was  his;  gold  was  on  the  table;  and  i; 
world  full  of  adventures  lay  outside  his  door. 

The  captain  dressed,  with  care,  in  a  dark  riding- 
suit,  and  breakfasted  heartily.  Then  he  ordered 
the  gray  to  be  saddled,  drew  on  his  boots  of  Spanish 
leather  on  the  heels  of  which  rang  silver  spurs,  and 
selected  a  long  and  serviceable  blade  from  the  col- 
lection beside  his  bed.  With  his  own  hands  he 
loaded  his  pistols  —  a  brace  of  fine  weapons  for 
which  he  had  paid  heavily.  In  spite  of  the  return 
of  his  self  assurance  and  high  spirits,  he  could  not 
forget  the  promise  he  had  made  his  conscience  to 
prc^e  the  mystery  of  that  beautiful  face  at  the  win- 
dow of  the  inn  on  the  heath. 

"  That  v.'ill  keep  me  very  pleasantly  employed  for 
the  day."  he  reflected. 

The  gray,  which  he  had  named  Victor,  was  fairly 
skipping  wrth  ambition  and  good  living.  As  the 
two  went  down  the  narrow  streets,  so  gallant  and 


64 


I    > 


Si! 


Captain  Love 


m^^ 


'in 


young,  great  folk  and  small  folk  looked  after  them 
with  brightening  eyes.  In  the  village  through 
which  he  had  passed  on  his  entrance  to  London, 
cottagers  stared  and  children  waved  their  caps,  and 
old  men,  humped  on  shaded  benches,  felt  a  vague 
stirring  in  their  dull  dreams.  One  had  been  ser- 
geant in  a  troop  of  horse,  years  and  years  ago,  and 
once  for  one  glorious  hour  (the  captain  and  lieu- 
tenants being  dead)  he  had  rallied  the  fragments 
of  the  command  and  led  them  back  to  the  fray.  He 
had  ridden  a  gray  horse.  He  had  looked  almost 
as  fine  as  that  young  gentleman.  So,  in  remem- 
brance of  that  gallant  hour,  he  put  down  his  beer 
mug  and  knuckled  his  forehead  to  the  captain. 
And  the  captain  turned  to  him,  smiled  and  waved 
a  gloved  hand,  leaving  the  old  soldier  in  a  fine  glow 
and  the  belief  that  he  was  still  a  person  of  con- 
sequence. 

At  the  door  of  the  tavern  in  which  he  had  slept 
from  early  morning  until  past  noon  after  his  night 
of  adventure,  and  where  the  sweet  dream  had  found 
him,  he  drew  rein  and  called  for  a  stirrup-cup.  The 
bulky  landlord  himself  appeared  in  answer  to  the 
summons. 

"  I  have  the  wines  of  Spain  and  France,  white 
and    red,"    he   gabbled.      "  Likewise    Canary    and 


Blows  and  Friendship 


65 


Sherry  wines,  brandy  and  claret.  Our  home-brew 
is  the  best  in  these  parts,  and  drunk  largely  by  the 
quality.  You  can't  name  a  Christian  drink,  sir, 
that  don't  lay  in  my  cellar  —  not  even  red  rum, 
from  the  Carib  Islands,  nor  the  juniper  liquor  that 
the  Dutchmen  get  fat  on."  He  paused,  breathless, 
and  looked  fairly  at  the  youth  on  the  big  gray. 
"  Stap  me,"  said  he,  "  if  it  ain't  the  little  highway- 
man." 

The  smile  faded  from  the  captain's  face. 

"  What  d'ye  mean  b-by  that?  "  he  asked,  almost 
stammering  in  the  eflFort  to  control  his  voice.  At 
the  same  time,  he  leaned  forward  in  the  saddle 
and  fixed  his  bright,  dark  eyes  on  the  inn-ke<?T)ei's 
face. 

"  I  mi^t  have  knowed  it  from  the  first,"  replied 
the  fellow,  "  when  you  rode  up  so  early  in  the 
momin'  on  that  there  gray,  an'  with  the  bag  o'  gold 
on  your  saddle.  Honest  men  sleep  by  night  an' 
ride  by  day  —  an',  if  they  be  wise,  they  leave  the 
bulk  of  their  coin  at  home,  iiien  you  jumped  as 
if  you  thought  the  hangmen  had  you,  when  I  woke 
you  sudden."  He  gazed  reflectively  at  the  horse. 
"  I've  heard  queer  tales  about  that  horse,  in  the 
last  few  months.  Many's  the  solid  squire  a-cursin' 
them  four  legs  o'  his." 


66 


Captain  Love 


, ,-  1'  - 


"I  am  Captain  Richard  Love,"  said  the  other, 
quietly. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  the  landlord.  "  You'd  be  a  cap- 
tain, for  sure.  One  of  your  kidney  —  he  was 
strung  up  last  February  —  called  himself  a  colonel." 

The  gray,  at  a  hint  from  his  master's  knee, 
stepped  closer  to  the  innkeeper. 

"  You  are  a  liar,"  said  the  captain,  in  a  voice 
sweet  as  honey.  "  You  are  a  filthy,  overfed,  scan- 
dalous swine.  Yov.  have  no  sense  of  decency  or 
honesty.  If  my  groom  were  with  me  I  should  tell 
him  to  whip  you." 

The  big  innkeeper  gaped  with  amazement ;  then 
his  ruddy  visage  turned,  in  hue.  from  salmon  to 
purple.  His  hands  clinched  and  his  dull  eyes  flashed. 

"What's  that?"  he  cried. 

"  Fellow,"  replied  Love.  "  if  it  were  not  for  the 
tenderness  of  my  heart,  I  would  ride  you  down 
where  you  stand  or  knock  in  your  thick  head  with 
a  pistol  butt.  It  is  what  you  deserve,  you  rascal. 
But  I  pity  you.  You  were  born  a  fool,  no  doubt, 
and  have  never  learned  manners.  If  you  were  a 
gentleman  —  yea,  even  a  poor  excuse  for  a  gentle- 
man —  I'd  meet  you  with  swords,  and  let  a  deal  of 
bad  blood  out  of  your  great  carcass.  As  it  is,  I 
will  descend  to  your  own  level  and  give  you  a  sound 


Blows  and  Friendship 


67 


drubbing  with  my  fists.  I'll  teach  you  to  mistake 
gentlemen  of  the  first  quality  for  highwaymen." 

"  D'ye  mean  you'll  get  down  on  your  two  feet 
an'  let  me  have  a  whack  at  you?  "  asked  the  rustic, 
his  amazement  renewed  and  his  rage  somewhat 
abated. 

"  That  is  what  I  mean,"  replied  the  captain, 
easily.  "  You  are  larger  than  I  am ;  but  I  have 
a  feeling  that  I  know  sc«nething  of  the  art  of  this 
clodhopper  method  of  fighting  that  may  surprise 
you.  But,  first,  bring  me  a  pint  of  your  best  claret, 
for  my  mouth  is  dry  with  talking." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  the  other,  shrewdly.  "  Ye'd 
set  spurs  to  your  nag,  an'  gallop  away,  the  minute 
I  turned  my  back.  Nay,  nay,  my  fine  cock.  I'll 
just  keep  my  eye  on  you  till  I  get  my  hands  on 
you." 

"  I  am  feeling  quite  kindly  toward  you,  now," 
said  the  captain,  "  so  please  do  not  make  me  angry 
again.  It  may  be  worse  for  you  if  you  do.  If  I 
entertained  any  desire  to  ride  away,  I'd  do  it  as 
easily  with  your  face  toward  me  as  your  great  slab 
of  a  back.  But  you  can  hive  your  own  way  and 
I'll  have  my  drink,  too;  so  call  a  servant  and  give 
him  my  order." 

The  claret  was  brought  in  a  pint  mug;   and  as 


mm 


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68 


Captain  Love 


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the  captain  raised  it.  he  said,  "  You  should  take  a 
quart  of  it,  my  mau,  to  fill  up  your  veins  —  for  I'll 
tap  'em,  by  way  of  your  nose." 

The  innkeeper  tried  to  smile,  but  the  coolne.?s 
with  which  the  gentleman  made  the  extravagant 
assertion  daunted  him  not  a  little.  Was  he  in  a 
fair  way  to  catch  a  Tartar?  he  wondered.  He 
watched  the  strange  young  man  drain  the  mug  of 
claret,  and  felt  both  uneasiness  and  curiosity. 

"If  ye're  not  a  highwayman,"  he  said,  presently, 
"  then  what  are  you  doin'  a-ridin'  'round  or  a  high- 
wayman's horse?  " 

"  You  are  full  of  questions,"  replied  the  captain, 
pleasantly,  as  he  returned  the  mug.  and  tossed  a 
piece  of  silver  to  the  man  who  had  brought  the 
wine.  "  But  you'll  not  be  feeling  so  interested  in 
my  affairs  when  I  am  done  with  you,"  he  added, 
without  heat. 

He  walked  the  gray  around  to  the  stable-yard, 
dismounted,  took  off  his  sword,  coat  and  hat,  and 
turned  up  the  sleeves  of  his  linen  shirt.  He  felt 
no  fear,  though  the  fellow  he  was  about  to  engage 
with  must  have  weighed  fully  four  stone  more  than 
lie.  An  inner  consciousness  that  he  had  learned 
many  tricks  of  iising  his  fists,  both  in  attack  and 


fi 


ti 


li 


hi 


Blows  and  Friendship 


eo 


defence,  gave  him  a  fine  sense  of  security.  A  dozen 
blows  and  parries,  learned  he  knew  not  where,  were 
clear  in  his  mind.  He  would  avoid  the  other's  rush 
by  stepping  aside,  and  plant  a  light  jolt  on  tne  bull 
neck,  below  the  ear.  He  would  take  a  swinging 
blow  on  his  left  forearm  and,  at  the  same  time,  ad- 
minister a  smart  prod  in  the  rustic's  eye.  Gad.  he'd 
done  it  before,  as  sure  as  the  sun  was  shining!  He 
felt  no  more  doubt  of  the  outcome  of  the  affair 
than  if  the  engagement  were  with  swords  or  pistols. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 
"  The  sooner  we  begin,  the  sooner  you'll  be  com- 
fortably in  bed." 

The  innkeeper  rushed  at  him,  with  his  hanvlike 
fists  a-whirling.  The  captain  side-stepped,  and 
smote  him  in  the  neck;  but  one  of  the  flinty 
knuckles  cut  his  cheek  and  quite  spoiled  his  mood 
of  pleasantry.  On  the  other's  stumbling  return  he 
met  him  briskly,  dodged,  avoided  a  frantic  swing, 
and  then  set  to  work  like  a  smith  at  his  anvil.  In 
a  minute,  mine  host  lay  prone  and  bleeding  in  the 
muck-heap. 

"  Wash  him  oflF,  and  carry  him  to  bed."  the  cap- 
tain commanded  of  the  men  and  boys  who  had  hur- 
ried to  the  yard  to  see  the  fight.     They  obeyed 


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i^S  ('t6)    4-  0300  -  Phone 

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** 


70 


Captain  Love 


promptly ;  and  the  victorious  gentleman,  after  wip- 
ing the  blood  from  his  cheek,  hastily  rearranging 
his  toilet  and  ordering  that  the  g^ray  horse  be 
stabled,  followed  into  the  house. 


'i 


CHAPTER   VIII 


CONFIDENCES 

In  the  excitement  of  the  fight  with  the  innkeeper 
the  captain's  mind  was  turned,  for  awhile,  from  his 
high  intention  of  inquiring  into  the  interior  econ- 
omy of  that  other  house,  out  on  the  lonely  heath. 
He  was  so  interested  in  life  that,  childlike,  ue  was 
diverted  by  every  passing  phase  of  it.  Though 
anger  had  pricked  him  to  engage  with  the  inn- 
keeper, he  had  punrhed  him  without  malice;  and 
now,  when  the  need  for  punishing  was  past,  he 
helped  put  the  fellow  to  bed  and  then  bandaged  his 
brow  and  ch'"n  and  bathed  his  eyes,  all  with  the 
most  aflFable  tenderness,  the  while  the  stable-folk 
and  the  kitchen-maid  (mine  host  was  a  widower) 
looked  on  in  admiraticHi. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  the  battered  one  inquired,  pres- 
ently. 

"  Here  I  am,"  replied  the  captain.  "  How  are 
you  feeling?" 

"Feelin'?    Lor',  sir,  I'm  past  feelin',"  said  the 

n 


;  '-'W 


11  * 


i* 


^S, 


72 


Captain  Love 


sufferer,  through  his  bandagf ,.  "  Sure  as  my 
name's  Joseph  Clark,  I'm  bashed  to  a  pulp.  Pistol- 
balls  wouldn't  hit  no  harder  than  them  f^sts  of 
yours." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Joseph ;  but  if  I  had  not  hit  you 
hard,  you  would  have  hit  me,  most  undoubtedly," 
replied  the  captain. 

"  Didn't  I  touch  you,  sir?  " 

"  I  got  one  scratch." 

"  Tom,  bring  up  claret  for  the  colonel.    The  best 
ve  have,  mind  you." 

"  Captain,"  corrected  the  gentleman. 

"  If  you  ain't  a  colonel,  then  you  should  be."  re- 
plied Clark. 

"  Bring  the  drink,  Tom,  and  hurry  about  it. 
Then  you  can  draw  beer  for  everybody  that  saw  me 
get  whipped,  and  drink  to  the  health  of  the  gentle- 
man that  done  it.  An'  I  want  to  say  —  you  hold 
on,  Tom,  and  listen  —  that  I  was  a  fool  for  what 
I  said  to  the  colonel,  an'  that  I  eat  every  last  word 
of  it,  an'  that  I  got  what  I  damn  well  deserved." 

"  That  s  handsome  said,"  remarked  the  man 
Tom,  an  i  hastened  for  the  liquor. 

"  You  have  an  honest  and  generous  heart,"  said 
the  captain,  "  and  the  unfortunate  things  you  said 


M 


1 


Confidences 


73 


to  me  are  forgotten,  as,  I  hope,  are  my  hasty  and 
ill-mannered  retorts." 

The  innkeeper  chuckled  painfully. 

"  You  laid  your  tongue  to  me,  an'  that's  a  fact," 
he  said ;  "  but  I  hope  you'll  forget  both  ends  of  that 
business,  sir.  When  the  wine  comes  —  I  hear 
Tom's  step  now  —  drink  hearty  an'  call  for  more. 
An'  if  you  don't  think  it  will  harm  me,  nor  heat 
my  blood  too  much,  after  the  brandy  you've  poured 
into  me,  then  I'll  just  make  so  bold  as  to  take  a 
gill  o'  the  stuff  myself  an'  drink  your  Honour's 
good  health  an'  my  wishes  for  your  happiness." 

"  'Twill  do  you  good,  my  friend,"  answered 
Love.  "And  I'm  highly  flattered,  I'm  sure,  and 
return  your  generous  compliments  with  pleasure. 
Here,  let  me  ease  your  head  a  bit  from  the  pillow, 
and  steady  the  glass.  Sound  wine  never  hurt  an 
honest  man  yet,  my  dear  Joseph." 

The  two  spent  the  remainder  of  the  morning 
(the  one  in  bed  and  the  other  in  an  armchair  close 
by)  in  an  exchange  of  compliments  and  toasts. 
The  spirit  of  good-fellowship  danced  in  the  air  and 
its  outward  and  visible  form  gathered,  in  dusty 
shapes  with  long  necks,  on  the  table  beside  the  bed. 
The  landlord's  oldest  friend  would  not  have  known 


74 


Captain  Love 


h' 


m 


■fi 


i' 


If* 

fl 


f  lik 


n 

I 


this  be-bandaged»  talkative  and  kindly  fellow  for 
the  same  Joseph  Clark.  The  two  dined  together  at 
noon ;  and  though  the  host  found  some  difficulty  in 
negotiating  mouth  fuls  of  the  size  t^^  which  he  was 
accustomed,  he  managed  a  very  respectable  meal. 

"  I  tell  you,  captain,"  he  said,  after  dinner,  "  I 
haven't  felt  so  warm  an'  clear  about  the  heart  in 
two  years  —  no,  not  for  ten  years,  maybe.  'Twas 
ten  years  ago,  come  Michaeln us,  I  lost  my  woman; 
an'  it  was  two  years  ago,  Christmas  night,  my 
daughter  run  away  from  me.  She  was  as  fine  a 
lass  as  any  in  the  land,  sir,  an'  her  dear  mother  over 
again  for  looks  an'  mamers.  By  God,  captain, 
thrt  was  a  hard  blow  to  me  when  she  run  away 
with  some  young  buck  I  didn't  so  much  as  know 
the  true  name  nor  condition  of.     I  was  a  good 

father  to  her;  an'  I  defy  any  man  to  say  nay  to 
that  —  but  she  left  me,  sir,  without  so  much  as  a 
kiss,  for  remembrance,  as  if  I  was  no  more  to  her 
than  Tom  Sprat.     It  wa.s  snowin'  when  I  missed 

her,  an'  close  on  to  midnight.  I  rode  over  the  coun- 
try till  dawn,  an'  froze  a  foot  an'  damn  near  killed 

my  black  geldin',  but  didn't  so  much  as  sight  her. 

That  was  a  stiflf  blow,  captain !    You'll  know  how 

it  would  feel  when  you've  a  child  of  your  own,  sir. 

Friendship,  nor  sport,  nor  liquor,  haven't  warmed 


El 


Confidences 


75 


my  heart  since,  an'  I'm  gettin'  the  name  of  a  surly 
fellow.  But  to-day  my  heart  feels  sort  o'  warm, 
and  free  the  ache,  an'  the  liquor  has  a  taste  an'  glow 
to  it,  like  it  had  of  old.  You  must  have  let  some 
old,  stale  blood  out  of  my  head  that  was  pressin' 
on  my  mind,  sir." 

The  captain  was  sympathetic,  and  questioned  him 
kindly  about  the  loss  of  his  daughter.  Qark  knew 
little  that  he  could  swear  to,  and  had  neither  seen 
her  nor  heard  from  her  since  the  night  of  her  van- 
ishing. All  he  knew,  for  certain,  was  that  she  had 
gone  away  in  a  closed  carriage,  with  a  stranger  who 
had  visited  the  inn  many  times  before  that  and 
never  afterward. 

**  She  may  be  dead,  for  what  I  know,"  said  Jo- 
seph Qark. 

"  Nay,  doubt  not  but  she  is  alive  and  happy," 
replied  the  captain.  "  A  lass  of  discretion  and  hon- 
esty, you  may  be  sure,  would  leave  her  father  only 
for  a  deeper  love  —  and  such  a  lass  would  love 
none  but  an  honest  man.  Women  are  wiser  than 
men,  my  friend  —  at  least,  so  I  have  read,  some- 
where or  other.  For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  believe 
I  know  a  great  deal  about  them."  He  leaned  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  chin  between  his  hands, 
pondering.      "  What    I    remember   about   wMnen 


76 


Captain  Love 


It 


Ji 


]  ^^ 


would  not  amount  to  —  that,"  he  said,  after  a  brief 
silence,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  again  and  snai>- 
ping  his  fingers.  "The  farmer's  lass;  Dorothy 
Petre ;  the  girl  at  the  window  —  ay,  there's  the  full 
story.  But  I'll  swear  that  I  know  more  than  I  re- 
member. I  think  it  must  be  that  my  '  eart  retains 
many  things  that  my  brain  cannot  re 

"  Captain,  you  are  a  wonder,"  re^^arked  the  inn- 
keeper. "  A  man  of  less  wit  than  me,  a-listenin' 
to  some  of  your  sayin's,  might  call  you  a  fool  —  not 
out  loud,  mind  you,  but  to  himself.  I  watched  you 
close,  sir,  till  you  shut  my  eyes  for  me,  and  ever 
since  I've  listened  to  you  close,  an'  you  sound  to 
me,  sir,  like  a  gentleman  in  two  minds.  You  may 
not  understand  just  what  I  mean,  captain,  for  I'm 
damned  if  I  do  myself;  but  that's  how  you  seem 
to  me.  You've  had  a  blow,  maybe,  of  one  kind  or 
another  —  it  might  be  in  fortune  or  it  might  be  in 
heart  —  an'  when  you  are  gossipin'  o'  something 
else,  an'  feelin'  warm  with  wine,  all  of  a  sudden  the 
old  pain  stabs  you  an'  throws  your  mind  on  to  the 
old  trouble." 

"  Do  I  act  like  a  fool?  "  asked  the  captain,  mus- 
ingly and  with  a  note  of  bitterness  in  his  voice. 
"  Ah,  Joseph,  I  am  more  than  half -convinced  that, 
in  so  doing,  I  but  act  the  part  to  which  Fate  has 


Confidences 


77 


ordained  me.  Do  I  seem  a  man  in  two  minds  ?  —  or 
in  none  at  all?  Oh,  my  honest  friend,  you  have 
guessed  shrewdly  in  guessing  that  I  received  a  blow 

—  that  pain  stabs  me  —  that  my  mind  turns,  ever 
and  anon,  to  the  bitterness  of  an  old  trouble !  You 
have  lost  whom  you  knew  and  loved  —  a  fond  wife 

—  a  lovely  daughter  —  and  the  warmth  of  sunlight, 
the  glow  of  wine,  the  comfort  of  friendship  have 
slipped  from  you.  I  have  lost  years,  and  loves  and 
memories  —  God,  I  know  not  what  I  have  lost! 
My  mind  goes  back  to  June  —  but  my  heart  goes 
aching  back  to  the  days  of  my  childhood.  You 
would  say  that  I  have  lived  twenty  years  —  or,  per- 
haps twenty-two?  Yes ;  but  I  remember  no  farther 
back  than  June.  It  may  be  that  I  was  loved  by  a 
beautiful  woman;  but  a  robber  hits  me  over  the 
head,  and  the  littlest  memory  of  that  affection  is 

"o  me.  Had  I  comrades?  Now  I  am  comrade- 
'  ,i!  Had  I  fond  parents?  Now  I  am  an  orphan! 
Had  I  a  place  that  knew  me,  and  standing  therein? 
Now  I  am  a  man  without  a  country.  And  yet  — 
and  yet  —  this  love,  these  comrades,  these  parents, 
may  be  even  as  they  were.  Death  has  not  touched 
them  all,  I  think,  nor  change,  nor  any  disaster.  It 
is  I  who  have  lost  them,  in  losing  myself.  Do  they 
call  me  false,  I  wonder  —  a  light  lover,  an  ungrate- 


*  I- 


ii 


I' 


78 


Captain  Love 


ful  child,  a  careless  friend?  Then  God  enlighten 
them,  for  the  thing  is  beyond  my  power." 

"Drink,"  whispered  Dark,  in  a  voice  of  awe. 
"  Drink,  captain.  Warm  your  heart  with  the 
liquor," 

But  the  captain  paid  no  heed  to  the  invitaticMi. 
He  had  already  imbibed  extensively,  though  his 
face  remained  unflushed  and  his  hands  steady. 
Leaning  forward  again  and  staring  across  the  bed 
with  his  bright  eyes,  he  told  all  that  he  knew  of  his 
strange  story.  He  told  it  slowly,  in  a  voice  often 
broken  with  emotion ;  and  when  he  had  finished,  he 
bowed  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"  By  God,"  whispered  the  innkeeper. 


I 

1 


III 


?  i 


Hf* 


b  m 


CHAPTER   IX 


THE   HIGH   ADVENTURE 

The  captain  did  not  leave  his  new  friend  until 
the  next  morning,  Even  then,  the  innkeeper 
begged  him  not  to  go,  and,  above  all  things,  not  to 
risk  his  life  in  a  second  visit  to  the  house  on  the 
heath.  He  worked  himself  into  a  fever  at  the 
idea. 

"  What  call  have  yo*i  to  go  back  to  that  place?  " 
he  cried.  "  They  are  devils  there.  The  house  is 
the  very  porch  of  hell.  Every  murderer  and  robber 
in  the  country  knows  that  place,  else  I'm  a  fool.  A 
face,  you  say?  A  woman's  face  at  a  window.  Fie 
on  you,  sir,  for  such  tomfoolery.  She  is  part  of 
that  devil's  trap,  I'll  swear.  Damn  me,  but  I  never 
heard  such  madness !  Surely  there  are  faces  enough 
an'  to  spare  —  lasses'  faces,  pretty  faces  —  without 
a  gentleman  runnin'  his  head  into  that  jaw  of  leath 
for  a  little  amusement.  The  woman'*'  a  baggage, 
sir,  mark  my  word." 

"Joseph,  t)   re  is  reason  in  your  view,  for  you 

79 


ii 


fv 


I    t 


f 


80 


Captain  Love 


have  not  seen  her,"  returned  the  captain.  "  But  I 
have  seen  her,  man,  and  I  swear  she  was  suffering 
the  pangs  of  hell.  I  care  nothing  for  her  beauty, 
mind  you,  but  I  have  sworn  to  my  own  soul  that 
I  will  learn  how  she  comes  to  abide  in  that  house 
of  blood  and  devilish  devices." 

"  I  tell  you,  lad,  she'll  not  thank  you  for  your 
trouble,  unless  she  mana^^es  to  lure  you  to  your 
death,"  said  Clark,  mournfully.  "  Heed  not  her 
tears,  lad.  Shut  your  ears  to  her  words.  Do  not 
enter  the  house.  If  she  wishes  to  leave  it,  she  will 
spring  to  you  from  the  window." 

"  Don't  worry  Joe,"  replied  the  captain.  "  I'll 
be  back  before  sundown,  sound  in  body,  an'  easier 
in  spirit,  and  the  danger  drawn  from  that  house  of 
blood.  I'll  strike  the  fear  of  death  into  that  old 
hag." 

And  so  he  rode  away,  all  his  courage  returned 
to  him  and  his  heart  strong  with  the  high  ambition 
of  righting  wrongs  and  overthrowing  the  wicked. 
He  felt  actually  gay,  what  with  the  freshness  of  the 
morning,  the  glow  of  the  new  friendship  and  the 
noble  cause  in  which  h'r  was  riding.  He  enter- 
tained no  fear  of  „word,  or  pistol,  or  hidden  trap; 
and  the  vague  terrors  which  haunted  him  in  the 


k 


The  High  Adventure 


83 


dark  hours  were  forgotten.  He  remembered  the 
pitiful,  fair  face  at  the  window,  and  his  spirit  was 
hot  for  the  rescue. 

Captain  Love  pressed  forward  at  a  good  pace, 
arriving  at  the  lonely  tavern  while  the  -^  orning  was 
still  young.     The  group  of  dilapida     1  buildings 
stood  in  a  wilderness,  out  of  sight  oi  any  cottage 
or  farmhouse,  though  at  a  distance  of  scarce  half 
a  mile  from  the  great  highway.     Thousands  of 
acres    of   unprofit.i  Jie   heath   and    rough    pasture 
spread  to  every  point  of  the  compass.     For  ten 
miles  or  more,  north  and  south,  ran  a  dif*  ict  so 
perilous  to  travellers  that  it  was  known  as  Ready- 
Trigger  Heath.     Many  a  solid  gentleman  had  is- 
sued from  the  passage  of  it  with  shaken  nerves 
and  a  slit  purse.     Throats  had  been  s'it  there,  as 
readily  as  purses    (though  w'th  less  prof*-),  and 
brains  had  been  blown  out  and  skulls  era      d,  all 
up  and  down  that  notorious  country  ide 

In  the  fair  light  of  day,  the  loPi-iy  tavern  and 
its  outbuildings  impressec  one  eve:i  more  deso- 
lately than  at  night.  The  walls  were  gray-black 
with  the  stain  of  foul  weather.  The  roof  of  the 
house  was  of  dark  slates,  the  chimney  of  black 
stone.     The  thatchings  of  the  stables  were  black 


82 


Captain  Love 


[i 


with  rot  and  age.  The  yard  was  devoid  of  that 
homely  bustle  of  poultry  which  is  so  cheering  in 
country  places.  The  brisk  air  and  lively  sunshine 
spent  themselves  upon  that  dreary  habitation  in 
vain,  unable  to  lift  so  much  as  a  shade  of  the  vague 
and  haunting  gloom  which  enveloped  it. 

Captain  Love  skirted  the  place  riding  with  un- 
wonted caution.  Near  the  stable,  in  which  horses 
stamped  and  no?ed  their  forage,  stood  a  large  and 
sleepy-looking  man  in  the  orthodox  smock  and 
gaiters  of  a  farm-labourer.  His  head  was  bound 
'round,  from  jaw  to  crown,  with  dirty  linen.  His 
hands,  though  large  and  muscular,  showed  no  wear 
or  disfigurement  of  toil,  and  his  red-brown  eyes 
were  at  once  bold  and  sly,  daring  and  unsteady. 
All  this,  the  gentleman  noted  at  a  glance. 

"  A  fine  morning,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said, 
drawing  rein  and  looking  swiftly  about  him,  and 
then  back  at  the  man's  face. 

"  Fine  enough,"  replied  the  man,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  gray.  Then  he  knuckled  his  fore- 
head, awkwardly,  like  one  playing  a  part  much 
against  his  taste. 

"  Ay,  sir,  a  rare  day  it  is,"  he  added  — "  for 
them  as  is  able  to  enjoy  it."     He  shifted  his  gaze 


wmm 


The  High  Adventure 


83 


from  the  horse  to  the  rider,  instantly  lowering  it 

again. 

"  What  is  your  business?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'll  tell  that  to  your  master,"  replied  Captain 

Love. 

"  I  am  master  here,"  >aid  the  fellow.  "  Honest 
folks  has  hard  farin'  these  days,  so  I  keeps  no  man. 
The  old  folks  live  with  me,  an'  are  at  the  house.  If 
you  would  have  a  glass,  or  a  snack  to  eat,  I'll  take 

your  nag." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  captain.  He  dismounted, 
and  tossing  the  bridle  to  the  ostler,  followed 
through  the  narrow  doorway  of  the  stable.  Once 
within,  he  clapped  a  pistol  to  the  back  of  the  fel- 
low's neck.  "If  you  let  so  much  as  a  whisper  out 
of  you,  I'll  blow  your  head  off,"  he  said.  For  about 
ten  minutes  he  employed  himself  in  binding  the 
man  with  rope  and  gagging  him  with  sacking. 

"  I  suspect  you  of  grave  crimes,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  could  even  make  a  guess  as  to  how  you  came 
by  your  broken  head.    Lie  quiet,  or  I  may  put  you. 
beyond  the  hope  of  bandages." 

He  led  Victor  outside  again,  mounted  and  rode 
toward  the  tavern.  A  twist  of  smoke  arose  from 
the  chimney,  but  neither  the  windows  nor  doors 


r 


f! 


V  \ 


'I 


. 


1:| 


84 


Captain  Love 


showed  any  sign  of  life.  He  pressed  close  to  the 
front  door  and  rapped  on  it  with  gloved  knuckles. 
He  heard  a  movement  within,  the  rattle  of  a  chain 
and  rasping  of  bolts,  and,  next  moment,  looked  into 
the  upturned  face  of  the  old  hag,  framed  in  the 
narrow  space  between  door  and  casing.  Impotent 
rage  flamed  in  her  eyes,  for  they  gazed  into  the 
muzzle  of  one  of  the  captain's  pistols. 

"  Throw  open  the  door,"  said  he,  "  or  you  d''e 
with  your  sins  on  your  soul." 

She  hesitated. 

"  You  need  not  look  for  help  from  the  fellow  in 
the  stables,"  said  Love,  "  for  he  cannot  so  much  as 
help  himself." 

With  an  oath,  she  drew  the  door  open  and 
stepped  back  a  few  paces.  The  captain  bent  low 
in  his  saddle  and  peered  within.  He  saw  the  frag- 
ments of  a  meal  on  the  table,  the  old  man  nodding 
by  the  hearth,  and  a  man  in  shirt  and  breeches 
snatching  a  blunderbuss  from  the  wall.  The  old 
woman  turned,  following  his  gaze. 

"  Haste,"  she  cried.  "  Make  haste,  you  fool ! 
Spatter  him  out  of  his  saddle ! " 

The  man  swung  around  and  raised  the  slow 
weapon  to  his  shoulder;  but  the  captain's  pistols 
bellowed  in   the  doorway,  and  man  and  weapon 


i^f! 


m 


P«*! 


The  High  Adventure 


85 


thumped  upon  the  floor.     At  that  the  old  woman 
fell  also,  rolling  and  screaming  hideously. 

The  captain  reined  back  from  the  doorway,  and 
looked  sharply  about  him,  expecting  some  danger- 
ous response  to  the  hag's  outer}-.  But  neither  man 
nor  beast  appeared  from  the  shelter  of  the  out- 
houses or  the  thickets  on  the  heath.  Dismounting, 
he  ran  into  the  tavern,  a  pistol  in  his  left  hand,  his 
sword  in  the  right.  On  Mie  instant  of  his  entrance 
the  old  woman  rose  on  her  elbow,  a  clapping  report 
stunned  his  ears  and  his  hat  went  spinning  from 
his  head.  He  reeled  against  the  jiimb  of  the  door, 
for  a  second,  somewhat  shaken  in  nerve.  The  smoke 
of  the  pistol  hung  in  the  still  air  of  the  room,  and 
beyond  it  he  heard  the  triumphant  and  fiendish 
laughter  of  the  hag.  And  then,  quiet  as  a  bird, 
something  sped  past  him,  and  ran  into  the  sunlight ; 
and  the  laughter  of  the  old  hag  changed  to  screams 
of  fury. 

Captain  Love  ran  from  the  house  and  gave  chase 
to  the  young  woman ;  and  as  he  ran  he  wondered 
if,  after  all,  she  were  a  willing  part  of  this  evil  com- 
pany. But,  remembering  the  look  on  her  face  when 
she  gazed  from  the  window  on  that  earlier  morn- 
ing, he  pttt  the  thought  away  from  him  as  unjust 
and  dishonourable.     She  ran  swiftly,  in  her  thin 


86 


Captain  Love 


.  i 


H 


'   i 

i 
;  I 


i^i 


II: 


i  r  f. 


If! 


gown,  while  he  was  retarded  by  his  jack-boots  and 
great  spurs  and  skirted  riding-coat.  But  he  came 
up  to  her  at  the  edge  of  the  thicket  in  which  he  had 
once  hidden  four  horses. 

"  Fear  nothing.  I  am  your  friend,"  he  gasped. 
He  flung  forward  his  left  arm  (his  sword  was  in 
his  right  hand),  encircled  her  pliant  waist  and,  halt- 
ing suddenly,  drew  her  back  against  his  shoulder. 
With  her  face  averted,  she  struggled  to  get  free, 
twisting  her  slender  body  and  striking  with  her 
little  hands. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  expostulated,  mildly, 
holding  tight  and  doing  his  best  to  avoid  her  blows. 
"  Calm  yourself,  madam.  I  am  not  one  of  these, 
I  assure  you.  Easy,  madam,  easy,  or  you  will  do 
yourself  a  hurt.  I  have  come  to  save  you.  remem- 
bering your  face  at  the  window.  Madam,  madam, 
do  not  struggle  so,  for  God's  sake!  I  am  a  gentle- 
man, my  dear  young  lady." 

At  that  she  ceased  her  battling  and  turned  her 
face  to  him  —  a  face  drawn  and  thinned  by  terror, 
eyes  afire  witi  many  terrific  emotions.  A  flash  of 
hope  sprang  from  brow  to  chin,  as  her  eyes  met  his, 
and  the  pitiful  brow  and  trembling  lips  were  beau- 
tiful. 


The  High  Adventure 


87 


"You  are  he  — who  escaped?"  she  whispered, 
scarcely  above  a  breath. 

"  And  I  have  cotne  back  to  take  you  Irom  this 
place,"  he  answered,  gently. 

At  that  moment  he  felt  a  touch  on  his  right 
shoulder,  and  found  his  horse  nosing  him.  And 
now  the  woman  sagged  on  his  arm,  and  her  face 
was  white  as  paper. 
"  Will  you  come?  "  he  asked,  bending  close. 
For  a  second  her  eyelids  fluttered  up;  then 
drooped  again.  Her  he-ad  sank  against  his  shoulder. 
Her  tre.  ^bling  lips  breathed  "  Yes." 

People  stared  to  see  the  big  gray  clattering  along, 
carrying  a  hatless  gentleman,  and  an  inert  lady  in 
a  white  gown.  A  shepherd-boy  bellowed  after  the 
flying  spectacle,  shaking  his  staff  in  impotent  rage. 
"  One  o'  they  young  bloods  up  to  his  devilments," 
he  cried,  and  cursed  furiously,  affirming  that,  even 
in  God's  daylight,  decent  people  were  not  safe  from 
the  wickedness  of  the  gentry. 

The  woman  lay  in  the  bondage  of  the  captain's 
right  arm,  her  head,  with  its  wealth  of  bright  and 
disordered  hair,  at  peace  on  his  shoulder,  and  her 
eyes  closed  as  if  in  sleep.  She  breathed  quietly, 
and  already  it  seemed  that  the  blood  was  brighten- 


I ' 


^4 


88 


Captain  Love 


U 


ing  beneath  the  pallor  of  cheeks  and  brow.  Her 
lips,  which  were  red  as  fire,  had  ceased  their  pitiful 
trembling.  The  captain  looked  down  at  her,  ever 
and  anon,  with  a  fine  lifting  and  quickening  of  the 
heart.  To  bring  such  peace  to  a  woman  —  to  carry 
her  thus  from  momentary  terror  —  was  surely  a 
great  thing,  he  reflected.  God,  what  lips  and  brow 
and  chin !  And  what  a  crown  of  hair,  hauntingly 
fragrant ;  and  so  lithe  and  soft  a  body  at  rest  in  his 
embrace.  For  a  second,  a  vague  fear  and  distrust 
assailed  him,  and  his  arm  slackened  ever  so  little. 
At  that,  her  lids  fluttered  up  and  her  eyes  gazed 
into  his  with  confidence  and  gratitude  and  a  wistful 
wonder. 

"  Lie  still,"  he  said.  "  Lie  quiet,  madam,  and 
fear  nothing." 

His  arm  tightened  again,  and  she  closed  her  eyes. 
He  slowed  Victor  to  a  walk,  and  with  imperious 
regard  beat  down  the  rude  and  curious  glances  of 
the  folk  whom  he  passed  on  the  road. 

He  bent  low  to  her  upturned  face. 

"  You  do  not  question  me,"  he  whispered.  "  You 
do  not  ask  to  what  place  I  am  taking  you." 

"  You  will  take  me  to  a  safe  place."  she  said. 
"  You  are  brave  and  kind.     I  have  been  in  hell," 


i 


.'  f 
I 


The  High  Adventure 


89 


she  added,  iti  a  voice  so  low  that  he  scarce  heard 
the  words. 

"  What  is  it  on  your  breast?  "  he  asked.  "  I  see 
a  glint  of  metal." 

She  shifted  her  position  a  little,  and  drew  a  short 
knife,  encased  in  leather,  from  the  top  of  her  bodice. 

"  I  have  lost  years  and  years  of  sleep,"  she  said, 
'•  that  the  hilt  of  it  might  not  slip  from  my  hand. 
I  can  draw  it  very  swiftly.  I  have  cheated  the 
devil  with  that  little  knife." 

"  Madam,  madam,"  cried  the  captain,  softly,  in  a 
voice  of  keenest  distress.  She  thrust  the  knife  into 
one  of  the  pistol  holsters. 

"  You  will  kill  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  already  killed  one  of  your  tormentors, 
I  think.    I  will  kill  them  all,"  he  replied. 

"  Nay,  those  were  but  his  hired  rascals  to  keep 
guard  upon  me,"  she  said. 

"  Name  him,  and  I  will  kill  him,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  know  his  name,"  she  whispered.  "  He 
is  big  and  foul.  He  is  a  coward.  I  will  tell  you  of 
him,  later.  Let  me  forget  him,  now,  as  if  he  were 
already  dead." 

"  He  is."  said  the  gentleman,  with  the  ring  of 
inexorable  fate  in  his  voice.    "  It  but  remains  for 


1 1 


90 


m 


I. 


L.,  i 


!     I 


I 


Captain  Love 


me  to  see  him,  aiid  watch  the  foul  spirit  leap,  in 
agony,  from  the  foul  body." 

"  You  hate  him?  "  she  questioned. 

"As  if  he  had  tortured  a  woman  of  my  own 
blood,"  he  replied. 

For  some  time  she  looked  up  at  him,  in  silence, 
with  a  great  and  beautiful  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

"  Let  me  sit  up.    I  feel  stronger,  now,"  she  said. 

Without  a  word,  he  helped  her  change  her  posi- 
tion.   His  left  arm  felt  like  lead. 

"  You  have  named  me  —  with  —  with  women 
of  your  own  blood,"  she  whispered,  her  face  turned 
aside.  "  How  do  you  know  ?  How  is  it  that  you 
understand  ?  " 

"  Hush,  madam,"  said  the  captain. 

"  I  have  read  in  books  of  old  legends,  of  knights 
and  gentlemen  such  as  you,"  she  said. 

"  Nay,  madam,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  cried,  modestly 
confused. 

"  You  have  risked  your  life  for  me,  knowing  me 
for  nothing  but  the  inmate  of  that  fearful  house  — 
not  even  knowing  — oh,"  she  cried,  "  it  is  as  if  God 
liad  heard  my  prayers  and  sent  one  of  his  strong, 
bright  angels  to  my  rescue." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  exclaimed  the  captain.  "  An 
angel  of  God !    Ah,  madam,  it  is  but  in  your  own 


The  High  Adventure 


91 


generous  heart  that  I  have  any  claims  to  virtue. 
No  man,  having  once  seen  the  pity  of  your  face  in 
that  window,  but  would  have  returned  to  help  you. 
As  for  risk,  it  was  nothing  —  and  no  one  to  care. 
I  am  no  saint,  madam." 

The  young  woman  scrutinized  his  face  with  a 
bright  and  insistent  regard. 

"  Was  it  altogether  for  my  sake  —  for  the  sake 
of  the  nameless  woman  —  that  you  returned  to  that 
place  of  peril  ?  "  she  a^ed.  "  Or  was  it  for  ven- 
geance ?  " 

"  It  was  at  the  better  prompting  that  I  returned. 
It  was  for  your  sake,"  he  replied. 

"  For  my  sake  ?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  nameless  woman  in  dis- 
tress." 

The  captain  felt  a  fine  glow  in  his  blood  and  yet 
something  of  uneasiness.  Beyond  a  doubt,  he  was 
deeply  stirred  by  the  pleading  beauty  and  remark- 
able misfortune  of  this  young  woman  who  sat  so 
close  before  him,  in  the  hold  of  his  arm.  He  knew 
what  a  bright  spirit  had  been  hers,  seeing  the  core 
of  it  still  unquenched.  Her  pliant  body  to  iched 
him,  her  shoulder  was  against  his  breast,  and  the 
clean  fragrance  of  her  hair  was  like  a  breath  across 
his  face.     The  good^  gray  trotted   strongly;    the 


92 


1\  i 


v. 


l\ 


■I 


1 1  * 


Captain  Love 


roads  and  meadows  were  bright  with  sunshine ;  the 
magic  of  romance  was  over  his  heart,  his  adventure 
and  the  whole  wide  world.  And  he  was  young, 
was  the  captain!  But  he  remembered  Dorothy 
Petre,  and  he  remembered  his  haunting  dream ;  so 
he  answered,  in  a  steady  voice  —  "  For  the  sake  of 
the  nameless  woman  in  distress." 

For  fully  two  minutes  they  travelled  in  silence, 
and  the  lady's  face  was  turned  from  him. 

"  Where  are  yoit  going?  "  she  asked,  suddenly. 
"  I  am  taking  you  to  a  safe  place."  he  replied. 
"  I  know  of  a  quiet  and  decent  inn,  not  more  than 
a  mile  from  here,  where  you  may  dwell  in  peace 
until  —  until  the  mending  of  your  aflFairs." 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  turning  and  clasping  his 
arm.  "Not  to  the  White  Heron!  Not  there,  I 
beg  of  you!  You  are  kind  and  brave.  You  would 
not  treat  me  so." 

"Madam."  replied  the  captain,  "I  swear  I  do 
not  understand  you.  It  is  a  good  house,  is  the 
White  Heron,  and  the  landlord  is  a  particular 
friend  of  mine." 

"  Not  there !  "  repeated  the  lady.  "  Oh,  that  is 
more  than  I  could  stand !  " 

The  captain  drew  rein.  "  Why  do  you  object  to 
that  decent  inn?  "  he  asked. 


The  High  Adventure 


93 


She  lifted  her  hands  to  her  face. 

"  Nay,  let  it  be  as  if  I  had  not  asked  you,"  he 
whispered.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  put  you  to  any  new 
distress,  God  knows." 


! 


ri 


i  I 


3! 


!' 


mi 

!  I 


I 


ij 


I' 


^ 


I 


!  I 


\ 


h^ 


CHAPTER   X 

MORE  ABOUT  THE  RESCUED  LADY 

The  gray  horse  Victor,  still  carrying  his  double 
burden,  was  turned  into  a  narrow  road  which 
skirted  the  village.  He  did  not  relish  the  thought 
of  thus  avoiding  the  mid-day  corn  at  the  inn ;  but 
for  all  that  he  did  not  sulk,  being  a  good  horse. 

"  Your  wish,  my  dear  lady,  is  my  command," 
said  the  captain.  "  God  knows  you  have  suffered 
enough  for  a  lifetime!  I  will  find  you  a  safe  lodg- 
ing in  town." 

"  Why  are  you  so  kind  to  me  ? "  she  asked. 
"  And  I  do  not  even  know  your  name." 

"  My  name  ?  "  said  he.  "  Why.  madam,  it  is  of 
small  account.    I  am  Richard  Love,  a  poor  soldier." 

"  Love  ?  "  she  asked.    "  And  poor?  " 

Her  glance,  moving  slowly  and  with  something 
of  gay  tenderness,  flashed  from  his  face  to  his  fine 
clothes. 

"  I  take  you  for  a  duke."  she  added. 

"  Nay,  I  am  a  plain  soldier,"  he  said. 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady       95 

"  You  ride  a  highwayman's  horse,"  she  ventured. 

"  That,  madam,  is  a  story  which  I  shall  tell  when 
you  have  told  me  yours,"  he  replied. 

"  As  yet,  you  have  asked  me  no  questions,"  she 
said. 

"  All  in  good  time,"  said  he. 

Quick  as  thought,  a  desolate  mood  had  overcast 
the  young  man's  spirit,  like  the  shadow  of  clouds 
over  a  bright  lake.  Life,  the  road  he  travelled,  the 
fields  and  gardens,  even  the  woman  before  him  and 
the  gray  horse  between  his  knees,  had  become  more 
unreal  than  dream.  He  could  picture  this  and  that 
—  the  inn  and  Joseph  Clark,  his  apartments  in  town, 
the  coffee-house,  Petre  and  his  sisters  —  and  yet 
with  no  more  conviction  of  their  reality  than  if 
they  were  pictures  which  he  had  seen  in  a  book. 
He  knew  they  were  so  —  and  yet,  had  they  slid 
from  his  mind  and  his  view,  would  he  have  felt  any 
amazement  ? 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  he  reflected.  "  I  am  the 
plaything  of  Fate,  as  a  leaf  twirled  before  the  au- 
tumn wind.     I  ride  as  in  a  dream." 

He  withdrew  the  glove  from  his  right  hand. 

"  Expectans  equito,"  he  read,  inwardly.  "  For 
what  do  I  wait  ?    God,  on  what  quest  do  I  ride  ?  " 

The  lady  felt  his  change  of  mood. 


1  ■ 


li 


u 


Hi 


96 


Captain  Love 


"  You,  too,"  she  whispered.  "  Have  you,  also, 
been  hurt  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  exile,"  he  replied.  "  But,  madam,  I 
beg  your  pardon  most  humbly  for  remembering  it." 

"  An  exile,"  she  said.  "  Outcast  from  some  great 
and  lovely  home  ?  " 

"  From  my  past,  madam,"  -aid  he,  with  unusual 
bitterness. 

"  Oh,  sir,  forget  it,"  she  rried.  "  You  are  a  man, 
with  daring  and  wit.  With  adventure,  —  in  war- 
fare and  gaming.  —  a  man  may  drug  his  memory. 
Make  a  new  life.  Forget  the  past  that  has  hurt 
you." 

"  Nay,  I  only  wish  I  could  remember  it,"  said  he. 

Now  a  disturbing  doubt  assailed  the  lady's  newly 
acquired  peace  of  mind.  Could  it  be  that  her  knight 
was  a  madman?  Could  it  be  that  Life  had  played 
her  another  cr  el  trick,  and  that  this  fine  youth, 
whom  she  had  tnought  a  champion  sent  by  God, 
was  no  more  than  a  half-v,'it  for  the  moment  en- 
acting a  noble  part  by  the  chance  of  a  whim? 
She  turned  and  gazed  at  him  with  wide  and  fright- 
ened eyes.  He  met  the  look  steadily  and,  reading 
the  question,  smiled  with  pensive  tenderness. 

"  Do  not  fear  me,  madam,"  he  said.     "  Even 


iiCvSiv*^' 


,^-^i. 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady       97 

though  I  talk  somewbat  vaguely  at  times,  I  believe 
myself  to  be  perfectly  sane.  At  least  I  shall  act 
with  circumspection  and  sanity  in  my  care  of  you. 
Trust  me." 

"  I  do  trust  you,"  she  said.  "  It  was  but  for  a 
moment  that  my  trust  wavered." 

They  rode  into  the  great  town,  through  narrow, 
dirty  streets  and  the  hubbub  of  trade.  It  was  a 
moan  part  of  the  city  which  they  had  entered,  and 
they  were  hustled  by  all  manner  of  low  people, 
some  with  wares  to  sell  and  others  with  jibes  to 
offer  at  the  expense  of  the  captain  and  his  charge. 
But  the  captain  was  wise  enough  to  pay  them  no 
further  attention  than  a  few  tossed  coins  and  good- 
natured  oaths.  Presently  they  came  safely  to  a 
small  tavern  standing  midway  an  alley  which 
seemed  a  back-water  thrown  off  the  main  stream 
of  tumult.  The  tavern-keeper  himself  rart  to  the 
gray's  head.  He  was  a  small,  red  complexioned 
fellow,  with  quick  blue  eyes  and  a  purple  birth- 
mark on  his  temple. 

"  Welcome,  milord,"  he  cried.  "  Sam,  come  see 
to  this  noble  charger,  while  I  attend  to  his  lord- 
ship an'  her  ladyship.  This  way,  your  worships, 
this  way.    As  neat  a  house,  this,  as  in  the  whole  of 


m 


11 


98 


Captain  Love 


\  I. 


If'  ! 


] 


London,  an'  fit  for  a  king.  Youth  is  youth,  milord, 
with  high  as  well  as  low;  and  here's  as  quiet  a 
little  inn  as  one  could  find." 

The  captain,  evidently  paying  no  attention  what- 
ever to  the  landlord,  dismounted  and  helped  the 
lady  to  the  ground. 

"  This  place  will  serve  us  for  the  moment,"  he 
whispered  in  her  ear.  "  We  must  eat,  and  we  must 
consider  our  next  step." 

"  Th.s  way,  your  excellencies,  if  you  please," 
rattled  the  innkeeper.  "  Here's  a  room  as  private 
as  any  young  sweethearts,  high  or  low,  could  wish, 
and  a  roast  on  the  spit  fit  to  serve  in  five  minutes 
—  ay,  an'  wine  that  your  lordship's  own  cellars 
couldn't  equal." 

Captain  Love,  still  holding  his  companion's  hand, 
turned  upon  the  little  man  a  severe  but  calm  regard. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he.  "  do  you  take  me  for  a 
baron,  a  viscount,  or  an  earl?  " 

"  An  earl,  my  lord,  an  earl,"  cried  the  other. 

"  You  are  a  man  of  keen  discernment,"  said  the 
captain.  "  But  the  fact  is,  I  shall  not  be  an  earl 
until  a  certain  cousin  of  mine  is  gathered  to  his 
fathers.  This  lady  is  my  sister.  My  cousin,  the 
present  earl,  expects  to  marry  her  next  Saturday. 
We  have  run  away  together,  my  sister  and  I,  for  a 


hi 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady       99 

reason  which  I  shall  be  delighted  to  explain  to  you 
at  dinner,  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  join  us 
at  that  meal.  And  now  show  the  lady  to  your  best 
chamber  and  call  a  fellow  to  me  whom  I  may  send 
on  an  errand." 

As  the  landlord  moved  away,  fairly  muddled 
with  delight  at  the  stranger's  invitation  to  dinner, 
with  curiosity  and  with  suspicion,  Love  stooped  to 
the  lady's  ear. 

"  I  shall  tell  the  fellow  many  strange  lies.  Do 
not  judge  me  by  the  game  I  play  with  him,"  he 
breathed. 

"  I  know  that  what  you  do  is  for  the  best,"  she 
replied. 

The  landlady,  who  was  as  abundant  as  mine  host 
was  scanty,  led  her  to  a  clean  and  well-lit  chamber, 
decently  furnished  and  with  a  few  potted  flowers 
in  the  windows.  The  captain  looked  at  Victor  in 
his  stall,  refreshed  himself  with  a  glass  or  two 
of  claret,  and  then  sent  the  landlord  himself  (with 
gold  coins  in  his  hands  and  his  ears  full  of  flattery) 
to  make  certain  purchases  at  a  certain  shop  which 
he  had  noticed,  during  a  former  walk  abroad,  in 
another  part  of  the  town.  His  adopted  and  tem- 
porary sister  must  be  clothed  in  something  more 
serviceable  than  the  travel-stained  white  gown  in 


HI 


^  n 


Mji'. 


!»'  ' 


',1 


f  : 


100 


Captain  Love 


which  he  had  rescued  her  from  the  house  on  the 
heath.  Having  dispatched  the  landlord,  with  a 
fairly  clear  idea  of  the  kind  and  quality  of  the  gar- 
ments desired,  he  called  for  French  brandy. 

"  Gad."  said  he,  "  I  seem  to  be  in  a  fair  way  of 
becoming  a  toper.  But  what  would  it  matter?  It 
would  hurt  nobody  but  myself." 

He  drained  his  glass. 

"  I  am  a  man  without  a  past ;  without  a  name ; 
without  a  place.  At  a  whim,  I  do  mad  things.  My 
heart  is  as  unstaple  as  water,  as  shifty  as  the  wind. 
I  play  a  game  against  a  hidden  player,  with  dice  of 
which  I  know  not  even  the  count.  Perhaps,  over- 
come with  liquor,  Chance  or  Luck  —  the  gods  of 
the  drunkard  and  the  child  —  may  befriend  me." 

He  called  the  drawer  to  him. 

"  You  must  get  better  liquor  than  this,  if  you  ex- 
pect me  to  drinK,"  he  said. 

"  'Tis  the  best  brandy  wine  out  of  France,  your 
Honour,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  cried  the  captain.  "  Take  it  away. 
Do  not  argue  with  me." 

Then  he  sat  in  silence,  brooding  over  his  own 
extraordinary  case,  and  the  case  of  the  young 
woman  up-stairs,  until  the  landlord's  return. 

The  landlord  brought  a  great  parcel  to  the  cap- 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady     101 

tain,  containing  two  gowns  of  silk  —  one  small  and 
blue,  the  other  large  and  green  —  two  pairs  of 
slippers  with  silver  buckles,  a  plumed  hat  and  six 
pairs  of  stockings  like  spider-webs  for  fineness. 
Also,  he  placed  a  fair  amount  of  change  at  the 
gentleman's  elbow. 

"  The  footgear  an'  stckings  an'  hat  I  got  where 
your  lordship  sent  me,"  he  said ;  "  but  as  for  gowns, 
Pollock  had  nothing  made  up.  So  I  went  to  a  lady 
T  know,  who  is  my  wife's  cousin  an'  who  buys  such 
things  from  the  maids  of  ladies  of  quality,  an'  here 
is  a  green  gown  that  was  worn  by  the  Countess  of 
Exe  no  longer  ago  than  Sunday,  an'  a  blue  gown 
that  Mistress  Dorothy  Petre  has  danced  and  supped 
in.  They  are  new  an'  clean,  your  lordship.  My 
wife's  cousin  is  very  particular  about  such  things. 
She  deals  only  with  the  lady's-maids  of  the  very 
best  ladies." 

"  Why  do  the  ladies  sell  their  garments?  "  asked 
the  captain. 

"  'Tis  the  maids  that  sell,"  replied  the  other. 

"  An'  a  rare  thing  they  make  of  it,  your  Worship, 
a-robbin'  their  mistresses'  wardrobes." 

"  We  are  all  robbers,  high  and  low,"  said  the 
captain.  "  The  heir  robs  the  dead,  even  as  if  he 
despoiled  a  tomb.    The  footpads  and  mounted  ras- 


1' 


I 

I- 


11 


102 


Captain  Love 


cals  work  the  game  like  beasts,  in  blood  and  lust. 
The  gentleman  sits  at  cards  and  steals  a  farm  or 
a  fine  horse  from  his  friend.  The  ladies  rob  us  of 
peace;  of  our  hearts;  of  honour,  like  as  not. 
Death  robs  us  of  friends,  and  daylight  robs  us  of 
dreams.  Soldiers  rob  in  God's  name  and  the 
king's.  So  what  matter  if  the  maids  slip  a  few 
vanities  from  their  mistresses'  closets.  Send  the 
gear  up  to  my  sister's  chamber,  with  my  compli- 
ments." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  lady  appeared,  arrayed 
in  the  blue  gown,  which  was  the  smaller  of  the  two 
and  had  once  belonged  to  Dorothy  Petre.  Her 
beautiful  and  abundant  hair  was  freshly  dressed, 
but  unpowdered ;  her  cheeks  showed  a  tinge  of  red 
and  the  low  V  of  the  bodice  disclosed  a  neck  and 
throat  of  incomparable  whiteness  and  texture.  Her 
beauty  was  startling  and  at  the  same  time  appeal- 
ing. The  captain,  after  bowing,  gazed  at  her  in 
frank  wonder  and  delight.  She,  in  her  turn,  laid  a 
hand  on  his  arm  and  smiled  up  at  him. 

"  Thank  you."  she  said.  "  I  do  not  think  there 
is  another  man  in  the  world  who  would  have  known 
that  I  needed  these  things.  And,  you  see,  the  gown 
suits  me  very  well,  does  it  not?  " 


rr^'ifcj^i^ 


"  LAID    A    HAND   ON    HIS    ARM    AND    SMILED    UP    AT    HIM. 


V 

h 


III. 


I 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady     103 

"  Well !  "  J  the  captain.  "  Madam,  it  sets  off 
your  beauty  amazingly !  " 

At  that  moment  the  tavern-keeper  entered. 

"  Dinner  is  served,  your  Worship,"  he  said.  He 
stared  at  the  lady.  "  'Tis  a  poor  dinner  for  such 
quality,"  he  continued,  and  then  —  "  If  your  Lord- 
ship will  excuse  me,  I'll  not  dine  with  you.  Sarah, 
my  wife,  says  'tis  very  good  of  your  Lordship  to 
ask  me,  but  she  says  she  knows  my  proper  place,  if 
1  don't." 

When  the  two  were  seated  at  table,  in  a  snug 
dining-room  c«  the  ground  floor  and  not  far  from 
the  kitchen,  with  the  best  of  the  inn's  table-ware, 
napery  and  cooking  between  them,  the  captain  felt 
freed  of  his  sombre  .  jod.  Here  he  was,  the 
accepted  protector  of  a  woman  who  must  surely 
be  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  world.  Dorothy 
Petre  was  beautiful,  —  ah,  yes,  — but  as  silver  to 
gold  in  comparison  to  this  stranger.  And  there 
was  a  flame  in  her  eyes,  and  on  her  lips;  rnd  the 
shadow  of  fear  had  left  her  brow. 

"  This  is  very  wonderful,  madam,"  he  said,  lean- 
ing forward  to  pour  some  wine  in  her  glass. 

"  Yes,  it  is  wonderful,"  she  replied.  "  My  poor 
heart  already  feels  something  of  its  old  strength 


^L 


\i 


■  r ' 


nf.' 


f 


104 


Captain  Love 


and  joy  Evil  and  terror  seem  but  shadows  now, 
—  and  with  every  moment,  in  the  light  of  your 
kindness  and  protection,  the  shadows  are  dwindling. 
Oh,  it  is  beautiful,  beautiful!" 

"  You  are  beautiful,  madam,"  said  the  captain. 

She  hid  her  eyes  with  their  lashes,  disclosed  them 
full  at  his  for  a  heart-beat,  and  hid  them  again, 
with  drroping  lash  and  lowered  head. 

"  And  a  man  would  be  a  fool  to  deny  it,"  said 
the  captain,  who  had  been  hit  fair  by  that  marvel- 
lous glance. 

The  landlady  removed  the  dishes;   and  only  the 
wine  and  two  glasses,  and  a  branched  candlestick 
remained  on  the  table.    The  candles  were  lighted.' 
for  dusk  was  filling  the  room. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  shall  take  it  as  a 
great  favour  if  you  will  tell  me  something  of  jiow 
Fate  brought  you  to  the  strange  pass  from  which 
you  escaped  this  morning.  I  do  not  ask  as  one 
who  has  a  right  to  question,  nor  as  one  entertaining 
any  thought  of  judging  or  criticizing;  nor  do  I  ask 
for  yoti-  story  in  idle  curiosity.  But  as  your  pro- 
tector, fur  the  time.  I  request  your  confidence.  In 
knowing  something  of  how  your  misfortunes  came 
about  —  of  how  your  enemy  got  you  in  his  toils  — 
I  shall  be  able  to  plan  your  immediate  movements. 


> 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady     105 

as  your  temporary  guardian,  with  the  mi>rc  assur- 
ance." 

"  You  speak,"  she  sighed  —  "you  speak  as  if  — 
as  if  you  were  already  tired  of  your  charge."  Her 
face  was  averted ;  her  voice  shodc.  "  The  danger 
of  the  adventure  is  past  —  and  so  —  and  so  —  you 
have  lost  interest  in  it  —  and  me." 

The  captain  felt  a  shock  at  that,  despite  the  reck- 
lessness of  his  spirit,  but  he  let  nothing  of  it  show 
in  his  face.  He  turned  and  let  his  gaze  rest  kindly 
upon  the  lady.    She  did  not  meet  his  eyes,  however. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  my  family  ?  "  she  continued. 
"  It  is  an  Essex  family."  She  shot  a  swift  glance 
across  the  candle-light  —  a  furtive,  questioning 
glance. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  know  anybody  in  Essex,"  he 
replied. 

"  The  name  is  Hollingstun,"  she  said.  "  My 
father  is  a  man  of  very  considerable  property,  a 
high  temper  and  almost  incredible  pride  of  blood 
and  position." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  seen  him, 
madam  ?  "  inquired  the  captain. 

"  It  is  almost  two  years,"  she  answered. 

The  captain  had  nothing  to  say  to  that,  but  re- 
flected that  many  things  might  have  happened  in 


'  I 


t1 


h 


f . 


"if 


m 


106 


Captain  Love 


those  two  years.  Time  has  strange  tricks  to  play 
with  both  property  and  pride  —  to  say  nothing  of 
Death.  He  felt  no  little  wonder  at  the  lady  taking 
her  father's  present  condition  and  attitude  so  en- 
tirely for  granted.  Also,  he  felt  a  touch  of  wonder 
at  her  self-possession.  She  had  certainly  made  a 
remarkably  speedy  recovery  from  her  weakness  and 
terror  of  the  morning. 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  seven  years  old," 
continued  the  lady.  "  I  was  the  third  and  youngest 
child.  Two  years  ago,  on  the  morning  of  my  sev- 
enteenth birthday,  I  met  a  young  gentleman  who 
was  visiting  in  the  neighbourhood.  He  was  very 
handsome  and  charming,  and  caught  my  interest 
immediately;  and  he,  poor  boy,  fell  desperately  in 
love  with  me  at  first  sight.  But  my  father,  proud 
and  violent  man,  threatened  to  whip  the  boy,  and 
to  fasten  me  in  my  room,  if  we  ever  tried  to  meet 
each  other  again.  It  appears  that  the  young  man 
was  of  a  comparatively  modem  family  and  of 
modest  fortune.  I  was  intended  to  marry  some 
one  of  family  pride  and  acreage  equal  to  my 
father's.  But  that  was  not  to  be.  My  lover  was 
not  as  modest  as  his  fortune ;  and  so,  in  that  dark- 
est hour  before  dawn,  I  descended  from  my 
chamber  window  by  help  of  the  ivy  on  the  wall, 


lui' 


More  About  the  Rescued  Lady     107 

stole  through  the  dew-wet  gardens  and  shrubberies, 
entered  a  carriage  ' '  the  turn  of  the  avenue  and 
drove  away  witl  .he  man  o'  Tiy  choice.  We  had 
ten  miles  to  go  ?  eure  reaching  a  certain  inn  where 
a  parson  and  a  s.\.:'\-'^f  'vf  horses  awaited  us.  But 
not  more  than  half  of  that  first  stage  of  our  journey 
was  accomplished  when  our  carriage  came  to  a 
sudden  stand-still,  cries  and  pistol-shots  rang  about 
us,  doors  were  wrenched  open  and  sashes  broken  — 
and  I  fainted  away." 

"  Gad,  it  is  like  a  story  in  a  book,"  exclaimed  the 
captain. 

The  lady,  evidently  too  busy  with  remembering 
her  adventures,  gave  no  heed  to  his  remark.  She 
sat  with  one  hand  shading  her  eyes  in  an  attitude 
of  deep  thought.  "  When  I  r^ained  the  use  of  my 
wits,"  she  continued,  "  I  found  myself  lying  on  a 
couch  in  a  small,  unfamiliar  room,  bound  hand  and 
foot.  I  screamed ;  whereupon  the  door  opened  and 
a  masked  man  entered,  unfastened  my  hands  and 
gave  me  wine  and  food.  I  asked  him  a  hundred 
questions  —  I  begged  him  to  return  me  to  my  home 
—  I  clasped  his  hands  and  prayed  him  to  take  me  to 
the  young  man  from  whom  I  had  been  torn  —  but 
he  answered  not  so  much  as  a  word  to  all  my  plead- 
ings.    I  shed  tears;    I  screamed  and  sobbed;    I 


i  I 


.^ 


m> 


»    • 


hi. 


«'• 


,1^ 


108 


Captain  Love 


prayed  to  him  in  God's  name.  But  the  beast  only 
stared  at  me  through  the  holes  in  his  black  mask. 
Soon  I  was  blindfolded,  lifted  in  strong  arms  and 
carried  and  deposited  on  the  seat  of  a  carriage.  But 
why  describe  the  horrors  of  that  journey.  At  last 
it  ended,  and  T  found  myself  in  that  fearful  house 
on  the  heath  —  in  that  hell  from  which  you  rescued 
me  only  a  few  hours  ago." 

For  what  seemed  to  them  both  a  long  time,  they 
sat  very  quiet  and  silent.  The  captain  felt  an  un 
comfortable  conviction  that  he  had  been  listening 
to  a  tremendous  lie.  Just  what  this  conviction  was 
founded  upon,  he  could  not  say.  At  last  he  pushed 
his  chair  back  from  the  table. 

"  Thank  you,  madam.  It  was  a  most  remarkable 
experience,"  he  said,  quietly. 

The  lady  sprang  from  her  seat.  Her  thin  face 
was  flaming  and  her  fine  eyes  were  like  stars. 

"  You  do  not  believe  me!  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  you 
do  not  believe  a  word  that  I  have  said !  You  think 
me  false  to  your  kindness." 

"  Nay,  by  God ! "  exclaimed  the  captain,  des- 
perately confused.  "  Nay,  my  dear  lady,  I  assure 
you  —  I  assure  you  that  I  think  nothing  of  the 
kind." 

"  Oh,  you  are  cruel,"  she  sighed. 


Mce  About  the  Rescued  Lady     109 


"  That  —  that  is  unfair,"  he  said,  looking  every- 
where but  at  her  pleading  lips  and  eyes. 

She  sank  back  er  seat  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands.     He  noticed  jewels  on  her  slender  fingers 

—  jewels  that  flashed  red  and  white  fire  at  the 
movements  of  her  sobbing.  His  heart  smote  him 
with  emotions  of  tenderness  and  reproach.  But  he 
held  his  ground,  gazing  down  at  the  weeping 
woman  with  a  face  of  dismay  and  pain. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  me  ?  "  she  whispered,  without 
changing  her  position.  "  And  why  did  you  expect 
me  —  to  tell  you  —  the  truth;  —  when  you  knew 

—  you  must  have  known  —  that  the  truth  was  so 
bitter?" 

*•  Madam,"  said  he,  "  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me. 
From  my  htiirt,  I  beg  your  pardon  most  humbl; 
Consider  it,  if  you  can,  as  though  I  had  asked  nc 
questions  and  you  had  made  no  answers."  He 
paused,  and  stepped  closer  to  her.  "  I  must  go 
now,"  he  said.  "  You  will  be  safe  and  well  cared 
for  here,  and  I  shall  see  you  again  to-morrow. 
Good  night,  madam." 

She  did  not  move  or  reply,  and  he  saw  the  glint 
of  tears,  like  more  jewels,  on  her  fingers. 

"  Please  do  not  think  unkindly  of  me,"  he  said. 
"  It  was  in  stupidity  —  In  ignorance  —  that  I  ques- 


Sit 


»     > 


110 


Captain  Love 


tioned  you."  He  touched  her  bright  hair  very 
lightly  with  his  fingers.  "  Good  night,  madam," 
he  whispered. 

Like  a  flash  she  was  standing  before  him.  Quick 
as  a  breath  her  arms  were  about  his  neck,  and  for 
a  brief  mad  second  her  lips  burned  on  his.  And 
then,  swift  as  light,  she  was  gone  from  the  room. 

The  captain  continued  to  stand  there,  for  a  little 
while,  like  one  stricken  by  a  bolt  of  lightning. 

"  By  Gad !  "  he  whispered,  presently.  **  By 
Heaven !    Well,  I'll  be  damned !  " 

By  her  own  confession,  the  woman  had  lied  to 
him;  also,  by  her  own  confession,  she  was  —  what 
she  was.  But  his  blood  raced  in  his  veins,  his  head 
was  in  a  whirl,  and  unmeaning  oaths  continued  to 
issue  from  his  trembling  lips.  At  last  he  rang  for 
the  innkeeper. 

"  Take  good  care  of  ^y  sister,"  he  said,  laying 
money  on  the  table.  "  See  to  it  that  she  lacks  noth- 
ing, and  —  and  keep  this  matter  quiet.  I  shall  re- 
turn to-morrow." 

Then  he  left  the  snug,  candle-lit  dining-room, 
stumbled  along  a  dark  passage,  and  issued  blindly 
upon  the  alley. 


it,  ■ 


1^ 


It 


1-VlWi?J 


CHAPTER    XI 


THE   MEETING 

Captain  Love,  forgetting  all  about  his  good 
gray  horse,  tramped  home  on  his  own  two  feet. 
Though  he  walked  straight  enough,  his  head  was  in 
a  maze.  Was  ever  a  man  in  a  stranger  predica- 
ment? Did  ever  a  man  live  a  shiftier  manner  of 
existence?  he  wondered.  His  nameless  state  and 
the  risky  nature  of  his  livelihood  were  bad  enough, 
surely ;  but  the  state  of  his  heart  troubled  him  more 
than  these.  He  wondered  if  the  blow  which  the 
robber  had  dealt  his  head  had  not  weakened  or  in- 
flamed his  heart  in  some  way;  for  here  he  was  (he 
could  not  deny  it)  at  one  and  the  same  time  shaken 
and  fired  by  Dorothy  Petre  and  by  the  woman 
whom  he  had  rescued  from  the  house  on  the  heath, 
and  enraptured  also  by  a  vague  dream.  And  this 
dream  disturbed  him  most  of  all,  for  it  seemed 
positively  insane  for  an  active  man,  with  living 
beauties  before  his  eyes,  to  be  in  love  with  a  dream. 
The  dream  was  so  vague  —  a  garden,  a  woman, 

ill 


i 


I! " 

'■ft  •■ 


112 


Captain  Love 


and  a  forgotten  face.  And  yet  his  heart  had  felt 
no  other  ecstasy  to  compare  with  the  ecstasy  of 
that  dream. 

"  Love !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Gad,  but  my  heart  is 
a  pulp !  The  Fates  must  have  tossed  me  that  name 
with  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks." 

He  reached  the  door  of  his  house  without  ad- 
venture, and  found  his  old  servant  awaiting  him  on 
the  threshold,  lantern  in  hand. 

"  So  you're  home  at  last,"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"  We've  been  in  a  fine  way,  a-worryin'  about  you. 
An'  you've  lost  your  horse." 

"  My  horse  ?  Well,  upon  my  soul.  I'd  forgotten 
all  about  him,"  replied  the  captain.  "  But  he  is  safe 
enough  in  a  very  comfortable  stable." 

"  My  old  woman's  mournin'  you  for  dead,"  said 
the  servant,  in  a  milder  voice.  "  She  couldn't  have 
carried  on  worse  if  it  had  been  me  she  thought  was 
killed.  Snc's  been  in  her  bed  all  day,  she  feels  that 
bad." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well."  the  captain  assured  him. 

"  An'  there  be  a  fellow  here,  a-waitin'  to  see  you 
since  afore  sunset,"  said  old  Tom.  "  He  says  his 
name  is  Qark,  an'  that  he  owns  a  fine  inn,  an'  is  a 
particular  friend  of  your  Honour's.  I  couldn't  get 
him  out  of  the  house,  so  I  locked  away  all  the  valu- 


The  Meeting 


113 


ables  and  have  kept  my  two  eyes  on  him  ever  since 
he  come." 

"  Well,  now  you  can  go  to  bed,"  said  the  captain, 
and  brushed  past  him  and  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs. 

He  found  Josej^':  Clark  in  his  room,  seated  by 
the  table  where  burned  one  candle  in  a  pewter 
holder.  Old  Tom  had  evidently  hidden  away  the 
silver  candlesticks.  The  innkeeper  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  advanced  with  extended  hand. 

"  I've  been  in  a  bad  way,"  said  he.  "  I  thought 
them  devils  had  made  an  end  of  you.  I  went  out 
to  the  place,  colonel,  but  it  was  quiet  as  death,  an' 
the  windows  an*  doors  all  fastened.  So  I  came 
straight  to  town  to  look  for  you." 

"  That  was  very  good  of  you.  I  am  sorry  I 
caused  you  any  uneasiness,"  said  the  captain. 

"  I  have  had  a  most  remarkable  day  of  it,"  he 
added. 

"  I'll  swear  you  had,  sir.  Your  face  shows  it," 
rejoined  Qark. 

The  captain  set  a  decanter  of  spirits,  and  glasses, 
on  the  table,  and  also  a  jar  of  the  Virginian  leaf 
and  two  tobacco  pipe? 

"  Your  face  shows  it,  sir,"  continued  the  inn- 
keeper, as  he  stuffed  his  pipe  with  his  thumb.  He 
lit  it  at  the  candle.    "  The  light's  not  overgood,  but 


1^ 


114 


Captain  Love 


I" 


it's  enough  to  show  the  glow  and  weariness  of  your 
features,  sir.  Did  you  break  up  that  nest  of 
butchers,  may  I  ask?" 

"  I  gave  them  a  shock.  I  did  for  one  of  them," 
answered  the  captain.  "  I  shook  that  damned  house 
to  its  foundations,  you  may  swear  to  that,  Joseph." 

"  Ay,  you'd  do  that,  sir.  And  what  about  the 
beautiful  lady?" 

The  captain  looked  his  friend  sq  arely  in  the  one 
eye  which  shone  from  the  folds  of  the  bandages. 

"  Why,  as  for  the  beautiful  lady,  1  got  her  safely 
away,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"  May  I  roast  in  hell !  "  exclaimed  Clark. 

"  And  you  may  well  call  her  beautifu',"  said  the 
captain. 

"  Stap  my  vitals ! "  cried  the  other. 

"  And  she  came  away  willingly.  She  rode  in 
front  of  me,  on  the  gray  horse,"  continued  Love. 

"  But  I'll  vow  she  took  a  good  look  at  you,  first," 
said  Clark.  "  A  g-irl  mi^ht  ride  away  with  you, 
colone'  an'  still  not  be  a  saint.  They  changes  their 
lovers,  they  do,  whenever  they  see  a  chance  to  better 
themselves  —  an*  small  blame  to  'em  for  changin*, 
say  I." 

"  Nay,  you  do  not  understand,"  said  Love.  "  She 
was  distracted  with  fear  and  disgust  of  that  place. 


jh 


; ! 


•?fe'''«8" 


The  Meeting 


115 


She  would  have  ridden  away  with  her  grandfather. 
She  was  in  g^eat  distress.  You  do  wrong,  Joseph, 
to  so  readily  thiiik  wrong  of  an  unfortunate 
woman." 

"Ay,  maybe  you're  right,"  said  Clark,  with  a 
doubtful  smile.  For  a  few  seconds  he  pulled  hard 
at  his  pipe,  his  eyes  resting  on  the  captain's  face 
with  a  light  of  tenderness  and  amusement. 

"  Oh,  you  are  young,  colonel,  for  ali  your  skill 
an'  heart  in  fighting,"  he  said.  "  You  are  tender 
inside,  for  all  your  spunk.  I  take  it,  sir,  that  the 
two  things  that  work  on  you  most  surely  —  and 
swiftly  —  are  beauty  an'  pity.  After  you  pounded 
my  mask,  you  pitied  me  —  so  then  you  felt  devilish 
friendly  toward  me.  But  this  woman,  I  swear,  was 
both  pitiful  and  beautiful." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain,  laughing  uneasily. 
"  Yes,  she  is  pitiful  and  beautiful." 

Qark  ponde:  d  deeply,  the  while  he  blew  forth 
great  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke.  "  Where  is  she 
now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  is  in  a  safe  and  quiet  place  in  town,"  re- 
plied Love. 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  her  to  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  suggested  it ;  but  she 
seemed  to  have  a  very  decided  objection  to  my  tak- 


n 


116 


Captain  Love 


m 


p> 


i  >    ' 


ing  her  to  your  inn.  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  in- 
cident, queer  as  it  was.  Queer  things  have  driven 
it  from  my  mind.  Now  that  I  come  to  recollect  it, 
we  rode  a  long  way  'round  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  avoid  the  White  Heron." 

"  Who  is  this  woman  ?  '*  asked  Gark,  leaning 
forward  and  peering  at  the  captain,  with  his  one 
visible  eye  very  bright  and  steady. 

"  I  do  not  know."  replied  Love.  "  She  told  me 
a  story  which  she  afterward  confessed  was  untrue. 
She  said  that  she  came  from  Essex  —  but  that 
counts  for  nothing  —  and  that  she  ran  away  with 
a  young  and  r'^orming  lover,  from  a  proud  and  in- 
exorable fatiie  .nd  was  torn  from  her  lover's  arms 
and  travelling  carriage  by  masked  men,  and  carried 
to  the  house  on  the  heath.  But  she  afterward  con- 
fessed that  the  whole  story  was  a  lie.  Yes,  she 
told  me  it  was  a  He  when  she  saw  that  I  did  not 
believe  it." 

"WTiat  —  what  does  this  woman  look  like?" 
inquired  Joseph  Clark,  in  a  voice  so  thin  and 
strange  as  to  cause  the  captain  to  stare  at  him  in 
wonder.  Then  pity  and  amazement  gripped  his 
tender  heart! 

"  I  read  your  mind,"  said  he;  "  but  surely,  surely 
it  is  running  wild !  " 


«a 


The  Meeting 


117 


"  I  ask  you  a  simple  question,  sir.  Pray  tell  me 
of  her  appearance,"  cr-  i  the  other,  feverishly.  By 
now  the  fire  in  his  pipe  was  dead  and  he  leaned 
half-way  across  the  table. 

"  She  is  frail  of  body,"  replied  Love,  quietly. 
"  Her  face  is  thin,  as  if  with  suffering,  and  yet  very 
beautiful.    Her  lips  are  very  red." 
"  Yes !   Yes !  "  murmured  the  other. 
"  Her  eyes  are  wonderful,"  continued  the  cap- 
tain.   "  Her  hands  are  slender  —  and  soft." 

"Of  what  colour  is  her  hair?  Of  what  colour 
are  her  eyes  ?  "  cried  Clark. 

The  captain  stared,  blushed  and  stammered. 
"  Well,  —  upon  my  soul !    Her  eyes?    Her  hair? 
They  are  very  beautiful;    but  damme  if  I  know 
their  colour!    No,  rip  me  if  I  do! " 

At  that  Qark  sank  back  between  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  but  continued  to  gaze  fixedly  at  the  gentle- 
man. "  You  must  be  blind,"  he  murmured  —  "  or 
bent  on  fooling  me." 

"  Fooling  you  ?  "  cried  the  captain.  "  My  dear 
man,  I  would  not  fool  you  for  a  chest  of  gold. 
You  fool  yourself,  I  think,  in  entertaining,  for  a 
moment,  the  wild  thought  that  is  in  your  mind. 
This  woman  is  of  the  world.  Maybe  there  is  a 
strain  of  foreign  blood  in  her,  though  to  that  I'd 


118 


Captain  Love 


f* 


111- 


't, 


f 


^ 


not  swear.  She  knows  her  beauty,  and  uses  it  to 
the  full  of  its  power.  She  is  sophisticated.  She 
—  she  is  more  sophisticated  than  —  than  I  at  first 
believed." 

"  Ay,  that  might  well  be,"  remarked  Clark,  in  a 
bitter  voice. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  captain,  "  you  opened 
your  heart  to  me,  not  long  ago,  and  in  return  I 
displayed  my  most  intimate  troubles  to  you ;  so  you 
will  forgive  me,  I  trust,  if  I  speak  frankly  now. 
You  spoke  to  me  of  your  daughter;  and  now  I  am 
convinced  that  you  entertain  some  hopes  of  finding 
her  in  the  person  of  this  young  woman  whom  I 
have  rescued  from  the  house  on  the  heath.  God 
knows,  Joe,  that  it  hurts  me  to  dash  your  hopes,  but 
I  must  honestly  say  that  I  cannot  associate  my  idea 
of  your  daughter  with  this  woman.  Your  daugh- 
ter, I  take  it,  possessed  the  charms  of  simplicity, 
modesty  and  innocence,  along  with  her  beauty  of 
person.    This  lady,  though  beautiful  without  a  flaw, 

not  simple.  I  make  no  statement  against  her 
modesty  and  innocence,  for  she  is  maddeningly  at- 
tractive. She  is  armed,  at  all  points,  for  the  cap- 
ture of  men  —  God  forgive  me  for  saying  it!  Oh, 
yes,  she  is  charming;  and  I  believe  her  heart  to  be 


The  Meeting 


119 


sound  and  generous;    but  she  is  full  of  arts  and 

wiles." 

"That  might  well  be,"  said  the  other.     "But 

tell  me,  why  did  she  refuse  to  come  to  my  house?  — 

or  even  within  sight  of  it?" 

Captain   \x)\e  shook  his  head.     "  Women  have 

queer  whims,"  he  said.     "  Twould  take  a  wiser 

man  than  either  you  or  me  to  find  a  logical  reason 

in  some  of  them.     It  may  be  that  she  wanted  to 

come  to  town  the  quicker." 

"  ^f  you  ha.r  no  objections,  sir,    '^  see  the  lady 

to-morrow."  said  Clark. 

"  Why.  none  at  all ;  and  i)erhaps  you  will  be  able 
to  advise  me  as  to  my  course  in  the  matter,"  replied 
the  captain.  "  The  guardianship  of  a  beautiful 
woman  is  not  a  position  to  be  lightly  considered,  — 
and  especially  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  has  had 
such  —  such  adventures,"  he  added. 

Bright  and  early  on  the  following  morning,  the 
two  repaired  to  the  quiet  hostel  in  the  quiet  alley. 
Clark,  having  dispensed  with  a  portion  of  his  band- 
age, displayed  more  of  his  visage  and  looked  con- 
siderably more  presentable  than  on  the  previous 
day.  Though  both  his  eyes  were  now  exposed  to 
view,  one  was  purple  as  a  plum  and  tight  closed. 


f:M 


n 


120 


Captain  Love 


The  innkeeper  received  his  visitors  with  several 
skips  and  bows,  ushered  them  into  the  private  par- 
lour and  immediately  took  word  of  the  captain's 
arrival  to  the  lady. 

*'  You  need  not  mention  the  fact  that  I  am  not 
alone,"  said  the  captain. 

Clark  fell  to  pacing  the  room,  and  clasping  and 
unclasping  his  great  hands.  "  I  feel  it  in  my 
bones,"  he  murmured.  "  You  say  she  is  beautiful. 
Ay,  an'  so  was  my  lass,  God  knows!  But  my  lass 
was  modest  as  a  babe.  And  this  woman?  —  God 
keep  us! " 

Even  the  captain  began  to  feel  something  of  this 
fever  of  expectancy  and  nervousness. 

"  It  is  a  chance,"  lie  thought.  "  Life  i  aS  full  as 
a  play  of  such  things."  He  faced  Clark,  with  a 
hand  on  the  big  shoulder.  "If  it  is  your  girl,"  he 
said  —  *'  tell  me,  do  you  forgive  her?  " 

"Forgive  her?  Yes.  I  will  forgive  her  all  her 
ingratitude  and  all  her  sins,"  replied  Clark.  "  But 
I  must  see  her  on  her  knees  to  me,  first.  She  must 
shed  a  tear  or  two  for  the  years  of  pain  she  has 
caused  me  —  and  for  the  shame  she  has  brought  on 
me  —  and  on  her  dead  mother.  Ay,  we  must  not 
forget  that,  for  all  the  pity  of  it ! " 


>t 


The  Meeting 


121 


"  Be  merciful,"  said  the  captain.  "  She  has  suf- 
fered greatly." 

They  heard  light,  swift  steps  approaching  the 
door.  Both  men  turned,  and  the  captain  felt  alter- 
nate waves  of  heat  and  cold  go  over  him.  As  for 
Clark,  his  heart  shook  in  his  side,  his  breath  dried 
on  his  tongue  and  his  l^s  trembled.  The  door 
opened  and  the  rescued  lady  entered.  She  wore 
the  blue  silk  gown  of  the  night  before;  her  eyes 
were  radiant;  her  face  was  tinged  with  swift- 
mantling  blood.  Her  glance  flew  straight  to  the 
captain's  face  and,  with  no  word,  but  a  little,  soft 
cry  of  welcome,  she  advanced  to  him,  with  hands 
extended.  His  eyes  wavered  under  the  intimate 
caress  of  hers.  But  he  stepped  forward  (he,  too, 
was  oblivious  to  Qark's  presence)  and  took  her 
hands  firmly  and  tenderly  in  his.  At  that  moment 
a  muffled  and  indescribable  cry  broke  the  magic 
that  seemed  to  enwrap  the  room.  Both  turned; 
and  the  woman's  face  was  suddenly  stricken  as 
white  as  paper. 


'i 


CHAPTER   XIl 


f 


THE   HELL -RAKE 

The  fifth  Earl  of  Buckley  was,  without  question, 
the  most  disreputable  gentleman  in  London.  He 
had  no  reputation  save  for  general  rascality;  and 
he  had  no  gentility  except  his  inherited  patent  of 
such  —  for  an  earl  is  a  gentleman,  whether  he  will 
or  no.  This  undesirable  peer  owned  lands  in  Kent, 
with  a  fine  rental,  but  Fr^nt  all  his  time  in  and  about 
London.  He  had  possessed  the  title  and  estates 
for  six  years;  and  even  his  intimate  friends  were 
ignorant  as  to  the  greater  part  of  his  career  previ- 
ous to  that  time.  There  was  a  rumour  that  he  had 
left  England  at  an  early  age,  under  circumstances 
so  questionable  that  it  was  with  a  very  sound  rea- 
son, that,  even  now,  he  kept  away  from  his  own 
county.  It  was  known,  for  certain,  that  he  had 
fought  the  French  in  the  wilderness  of  North 
America ;  but  even  over  his  brief  career  as  a  .soldier 
there  hung  a  cloud.  Some  said  that  he  had  slain  a 
comrade  with  a  blow  dealt  in  the  dark  — others, 

122 


The  Hell-rake 


123 


that  he  had  fled  openly  from  the  enemy  on  more 
than  one  occasion  and  had,  at  last,  been  ignomini- 
ously  kicked  out  of  his  regiment  by  his  brother 
officers  without  any  reference  to  the  higher  authori- 
ties. Such  a  thing  might  easily  have  happened  at 
that  time  and  in  the  North  American  wilderness. 
He  had,  after  that,  adventured  in  trade  with  the 
red  savages  of  that  wild  country,  and  had  lived 
their  primitive  life  for  years;  but  the  story  of  his 
marriage  to  a  squaw  and  ultimate  ejection  from 
the  tribe,  for  dishonesty,  had  so  frail  a  ^^undation 
that  it  is  scarce  worthy  of  consideration. 

Dishonourably  ejected  from  both  the  army  and 
the  fur-trade,  the  fine  fellow  took  to  the  sea  and 
followed  it  for  several  years,  though  in  what  capac- 
ity and  what  manner  of  craft.  Heaven  only  knows. 
Rumour  had  it  that  ^a  was  a  pirate,  not  an  ounce 
better  than  Dead-Eye  Silva  -'Jid  Dick  English  — 
worse,  perhaps,  in  so  much  that  he  lacked  courage 
and  brains.  Let  it  suffice  that,  when  he  returned  to 
England  to  take  up  the  title  and  estates,  he  brought 
from  the  hazy  past  neither  medals  nor  fortune  nor 
friends. 

Even  when  established  in  the  country  of  his 
fathers,  with  a  title,  lands  and  coin,  Buckley  did  not 
shine  in  any  capacity.     Though  possessed  of  a  cer- 


' 


124 


Captain  Love 


Mill' 

mi 

tain  kind  of  wit  —  a  low  cunning  —  he  was  no 
better  than  a  fool  as  a  peer  of  the  realm.  As  a 
landed  proprietor  he  accomplished  nothing  but  the 
spending  of  the  rents.  As  a  gentleman  about  town 
—  why,  there  was  not  a  stable-boy  in  London  but 
could  have  played  closer  to  the  part.  Manners  he 
had  none;  but,  instead,  a  number  of  gross  habits 
and  stupid  grimaces.  His  conversation  consisted 
almost  entirely  of  oaths;  and  his  oaths  were  as 
devoid  of  appropriateness  as  they  were  of  elegance. 
Sober,  he  might  be  mistaken  for  a  drunken  alder- 
rnan.  Drunk,  he  wis  no  improvement  on  the  pirate 
l;e  had  been. 

In  anger  he  was  vicious,  and  in  mirth,  offensive. 
On  more  than  one  occasion  since  his  advent  into 
London  life  had  he  confirmed  the  rumours  of  his 
past  by  proving  himself  a  coward.  His  adventures 
in  the  wilderness  and  on  the  high  seas  had  taught 
him  discretion,  however,  and  he  sometimes  dis- 
played a  positive  genius  in  discriminating  between 
men  who  could  be  safely  bullied  and  men  whom  it 
was  wiser  to  leave  alone. 

Buckley's  attitude  toward  women  of  every  de- 
gree was  both  revolting  and  laughable,  or  entirely 
one  or  the  other.  The  vanity  of  the  man  in  this 
connection  was  gigantic.     He  honesily  considered 


If 


";j2^''-'13ii?-.-  •  :i 


The  Hell-rake 


125 


himself  to  be  a  breaker  of  hearts,  though  (unless 
the  story  of  the  red  squaw  was  true)  he  had  never 
so  much  as  touched  a  woman's  heart  (except  with 
disgi  ^)  with  anything  but  gold.  In  fact,  he  was 
the  most  uncouth  and  disgraceful  figure  —  be  it  of 
noble  or  commoner  —  in  the  whole  kingdom.  He 
had  a  following,  however,  and  never  lacked  com- 
panions for  a  revel  nor  at  the  gaming-table.  Also, 
the  doors  of  many  presumably  decent  houses  were 
open  to  him  —  which,  thanks  to  the  wide  lands  of 
Buckley  and  the  standing  of  the  title,  would  have 
been  the  case  had  the  earl  been  the  devil  himself. 

Buckley  occupied  a  sumptuous  house  in  London, 
kept  an  army  of  servants,  and  went  through  life  at 
a  gallop.  His  most  intimate  companions  (he  had 
no  friends),  however,  were  never  sure  where  to  find 
him.  for  he  had  a  trick  of  disappearing  from  his 
house  at  irregular  intervals,  sometimes  for  a  day 
and  sometimes  for  a  week.  Wheti  questioned  as  to 
where  he  had  been  and  in  what  devilment  engaged, 
he  either  laughed  or  cursed,  according  to  his  mood 
at  the  moment,  but  by  no  chance  made  any  dis- 
closure. 

For  all  his  fine  pedigree,  this  earl  detested  men 
of  breeding,  for  in  his  heart  he  must  have  known 
himself  for  what  he  really  was.    Sir  John  Petre  was 


« 


an 


^^sap 


126 


Captain  Love 


m       ■'11 
»   I         ;» 

PI 


to  him  what  a  red  cloth  is  to  a  bull,  though  «  ve  y 
proper  sense  of  fear  kept  him  from  showing  his 
feelings  too  openly.  He  feared  the  baronet's  sword 
and  pistols  as  sincerely  as  he  hated  his  grave  face, 
modulated  voice  and  polished  manners.  There  were 
many  more  gentlemen  in  London  toward  whom  he 
felt  the  same  way  —  and  Captain  Love  had  not  been 
long  in  town  before  he,  too,  was  on  the  list.  In 
Love's  case,  the  earl  did  not  exercise  the  same  care 
in  disguisijig  his  feelings  as  he  did  in  some  of  the 
others,  for  Love's  position  was  not  exalted,  nor 
even  clearly  known.  He  admitted  that  he  was  a 
soldier  of  fortune;  the  son  of  a  country  parson; 
only  distantly  related  to  the  substantial  county 
family  of  the  name,  so,  short  of  bodily  injury, 
Buckley  considered  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  little  capiain.  Believing  him  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  neither  friends  nor  property,  he  decided 
that  here  was  a  safe  target  for  the  shafts  of  his 
ugly  temper;  and  so.  in  their  frequent  meetings  in 
public  places,  he  treated  the  youth  with  open  rude- 
ness. For  some  time  it  seemed  that  the  captain  was 
not  so  much  as  aware  of  the  other's  presence. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  Captain 
Love's  rescue  of  the  lady  from  the  house  on  the 
heath  —  the  lady  who,  for  all  her  beauty,  charm 


The  Hell-rake 


127 


and  sophistication,  proved  to  be  none  other  than 
Joseph  Clark's  lost  daughter  —  Lord  Buckley  called 
on  Dorothy  Petre,  at  the  house  of  her  brother  the 
baronet.  He  had  met  the  young  lady  some  months 
before,  at  a  ball  at  the  Marquis  of  Tucknor's,  and, 
deeply  impressed  by  her  charms,  had  kept  her  in 
his  mind  ever  since.  A  man  must  settle  down  some 
time  or  other,  he  had  at  last  decided,  and  as  a  part 
of  settling  down  is  surely  the  wedding  of  a  wife, 
why  should  he  not  offer  himself  and  his  title  to 
Dorothy  Petre.  For  lod<s,  she  hadn't  her  equal  in 
town;  and  it  was  well  known  that  she  possessed, 
in  her  own  right,  a  fair  property  near  Willington 
that  had  come  to  her  by  way  of  a  great-aunt. 
There  was  no  doubt  in  Buckley's  mind  as  to  the 
outcome  of  the  venture.  The  lady  would  be  flat- 
tered; the  baronet  would  be  flattered;  the  whole 
town  would  feel  that  the  young  lady  had  made  an 
excellent  match.  For  a  time,  the  earl  had  played 
fast  and  loose  with  the  idea  —  then  a  word  in  his 
ear.  from  one  of  his  intimates,  that  the  young  ad- 
venturer, Captain  Love,  was  exhibiting  a  prodigious 
friendship  for  Sir  John,  sent  him  about  his  errand. 
In  his  most  gorgeous  apparel,  and  eminently 
sober,  Buckley  drove  in  state  to  the  door  of  Petre's 
house,  descended  from  his  carriage  and  pulled  the 


128 


Captain  Love 


' 


V 

'I 


1     i; 


I  I 


it  I    ;h 

.-I 


bell  himself.  In  the  hall  he  was  met  by  Sir  John. 
They  bowed  to  one  another  with  a  deal  of  cere- 
mony, Buckley  feeling  that  he  could  show  a  trick 
or  two  of  breeding  to  any  damn  baronet  in  England. 

"  I  have  the  honour,"  began  the  earl  —  "ah —  I 
have  taken  the  honour  —  and  pleasure  —  upon  my- 
self of  calling  to  pay  my  humble  respect  to  your 
sister." 

He  made  this  speech  with  visible  effort.  Petre 
eyed  him  with  a  chill  and  inquiring  half-smile. 

"  My  sister?  "  he  inquired. 

"Ay,  your  sister.  The  little  one."  replied  the 
earl. 

"  This  is  vastly  polite  of  you."  said  the  baronet. 
"  I'll  remember  to  tell  her  that  you  called." 

"  I  want  to  see  her."  exclaimed  the  earl.  "  Gad, 
man,  d'ye  think  I  came  to  exchange  the  time  o'  day 
with  you  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  see  her,"  said  Sir  John. 

"D'ye  know  who  you  are  speaking  to,"  cried 
Buckley. 

"  Only  too  well,"  replied  the  other.  "  Good  day 
to  you." 

"  You'll  suffer  for  this."  exploded  the  earl.  "  I'll 
have  your  damn  watery  blood  for  this !  " 


The  Hell-rake 


129 


For  the  moment  his  discretion  was  lost  in  rage 
and  injured  vanity. 

"  In  the  meantime,  my  lord,  I'll  trouble  you  to 
get  to  the  devil  out  of  my  house,"  said  Petre,  in  a 
tone  which  began  very  softly  but  thickened  and 
quickened  dangerously  at  the  end. 

So  the  eari  went,  quite  forgetting,  in  his  haste, 
to  make  any  arrangements  concerning  the  time  or 
place  or  manner  in  which  he  was  to  satisfy  his  out- 
raged feelings  by  spilling  the  blood  of  the  baronet. 
He  went  to  Babcock's  and  strove  to  drown  the 
memory  of  the  rebuflF  in  a  quart  of  wine ;  and  the 
quart  was  no  more  than  comfortably  put  away,  and 
the  fire  of  it  just  beginning  to  glow  and  pulse  within 
his  skull,  when  Captain  Love  entered  the  place. 

The  captain  looked  pale  and  preoccupied.  He 
had  gone  through  a  disturbing  time,  what  with  the 
meeting  of  Clark  and  his  daughter,  just  after 
breakfast,  the  lady's  subsequent  accusations  that 
he,  Love,  had  tricked  her  into  her  father's  hands,  — 
and  after  that,  hysterics.  At  last,  however,  father 
and  daughter  had  gone  quietly  away  to  the  White 
Heron,  in  the  captain's  own  carriage.  The  young 
woman  had  made  several  honest  efforts  to  tell 
her  story,   but,  though   Clark  had   seemed   satis- 


130 


Captain  Love 


! 


i     f: 


YU 


fied  and  enlightened,  the  captain  nad  not  gathered 
any  clear  impression  of  the  matter.  She  had  run 
away  with  one  man,  been  kidnapped  by  another 
and,  for  two  years,  had  been  a  prisoner  in  the  house 
on  the  heath.  She  said  that  she  did  not  know  the 
name  of  the  man  who  had  kidnapped  her,  or  what 
had  become  of  the  lover  from  whose  inadequate 
protection  she  had  been  so  rudely  torn  within  a  few 
hours  o.  the  elopement.  Clark,  for  all  his  bluster 
before  her  entrance,  had  forgiven  her  and  taken 
her  into  his  arms  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from 
the  first  shock  of  the  meeting.  Indeed,  he  had 
asked  very  few  questions,  and  had  forced  no  an- 
swers. But  question  after  question,  unuttered  by 
the  voice,  rang  through  the  captain's  brain.  He 
strove  to  put  them  away  from  him ;  but,  even  after 
the  departure  of  the  father  and  daughter,  the  little 
devils  of  curiosity  and  supposition  continued  to  tor- 
ture his  mind  and  heart.  Even  in  his  own  house 
they  did  not  leave  him.  She  was  so  beautiful.  She 
was  so  fine.  He  was  a  fool,  a  blackguard,  to  let 
his  thoughts  dwell  on  that  awful  imprisonment. 
And  who  was  the  man  who  had  kept  her  in  that 
house  for  two  years?  And  what  had  she  intended 
him  —  Love  —  to  understand  by  her  caresses  ? 
When   the   captain   entered   Babcock's,   seeking 


The  Hell-rake 


131 


diversion  from  his  thoughts,  he  felt  as  dejected  as 
he  looked.  It  seemed  to  him  that  every  new  expe- 
rience proved,  more  and  more  conclusively,  that  li^e 
was  out-of-joint  and  the  world  upside-down. 

"  Tis  a  blind  game,"  he  reflected  —  and  at  that 
moment,  in  glancing  about  the  room,  his  eyes  met 
the  heated  and  insolent  regard  of  Lord  Buckley. 
He  returned  the  stare  for  a  moment  with  cool  in- 
difference, then  chose  a  seat  at  an  unoccupied  table 
and  beckoned  to  a  waiter.  He  had  no  more  than 
tasted  his  liquor  than  Buckley  came  to  his  table. 

"Don't  you  know  me?"  asked  the  earl. 

The  captain  looked  him  up  and  down.  "  Why, 
yes,  I  believe  I  do,"  he  replied. 

"  Who  am  I  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  The  Earl  of  Buckley." 

"Yes,"  cried  the  bully.  "T  am  the  Earl  of 
Buckley.    And  who  the  devil  are  you  ?  " 

"Don't  you  know  me,  my  lord?"  inquired  the 
captain,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"No.  I  don't.  Who  are  you,  an'  where  d'ye 
come  from  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  who  I  am,"  said  the  captain.  "  T 
am  the  man  who.  u.  all  probability,  will  pull  your 
lordship's  nose  before  many  seconds  are  past.  You 
are  drunker  than  usual,  sir.    Go  back  to  your  seat 


132 


C'aptain  Love 


1,  ' 


lUl     'ii 


i^i, 


i\ 


and  attenrl  to  y**!  '•  own  affairs,  for  I'm  not  in  a 
mood  to  stand  any  more  of  your  insolence." 

"You  —  you  upstart!  You  landless  dandy!" 
began  Buckley. 

"  Go  back  lo  y  it  5tat,"  said  Love,  "or  else  I'll 
whip  you  now.  aiul  shcxi;  you  to-morrow  morning." 

The  earl's  in-:  hcctiiK.  purple  from  the  pressure 
of  futile  rage  wthin  l^iip.  Now.  for  the  sec  ad 
time  within  the  ?h  ur.  ..l  found  himself  in  a  position 
from  which  there  seetiic  I  i-  be  no  way  of  graceful 
escape.  His  bubble  of  insolence  was  pricked  .md 
the  eyes  of  the  young  adventurer  surveyed  hsm 
steadily  and  expectantly,  a>  if  their  owner  i)ut 
waited  the  signal  for  the  nose-pulling  lo  begin. 
Buckley  knew  that  if  the  affair  were  allowed  to 
progress  to  nose-pulling  he  would  havt  no  choice 
but  to  fight;  and  he  shrewdly  nspected  that  the 
outcome  of  the  fight  would  be  in  tlie  captain's 
favour.  However  that  might  be.  he  ha(i  not  the 
courage  to  face  the  chances.  \t  last,  with  a  desper- 
ph-  effort,  he  controlled  his  voice  ind  his  features. 

"  My  young  sir,"  said  he,  "  you  have  a  devilish 
bad  temper.  You  should  keep  it  in  better  order. 
How  d'ye  expect  to  make  a  place  in  London,  if  you 
go  about  offering  insult  to  noblemen.  Every  man 
is  liable,  at  times,  to  speak  a  trifle  hastily  when  in 


The  hi  ell- rake 


133 


liqu'^r  —  so  i  advise  you,  captain,  to  exerc'  e  a  bet- 
te.   judgmcnr.  in  huch  cases,  in  the  future  " 

The  captain  stare; i  for  a  moment,  then  neceu 
openly.  •  Well.  I'n:  damned."  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  you  pjeat  ^af  you  havf  ^  the  sririt  of  a 
pot-boy." 

But  the  e       had  fimeH  a    ly.  pretending:  not  to 
hc.ir. 

Hjs      juor  ard  then  we  ' 
'v  .-        with  but    i 
t.  wo       ilf  a  pocket 
Hig  the  plai      m  company 
s,  whtii  the  notable  Rabcock  him- 
e  him,  to  attract  his  attention. 
*■  May     hi    ■  ^c^ur  attention  for  a  moment,  sir' 
a-ket   the  pr-  -ietor. 

ove  st^r         aside  and  smiled  graciously   ^ 
the  stoi  ilo- 

"  I  v\  .  wai      you,  sir."  whispered  Babcocl 

"  ■  ord  -ii  <ley  w<  n't  fight  you,  sir;  hut  he  won  t 
torsive.  n<  ither.  He  has  queer  followers,  has  his 
lor  iship-    so  be  careful,  sir,   how  you  go  about 


The     aptaiii 
uphtairs     vhere. 
lia'f    fh     mind 
fui  .)-  go  1.     li. 
with  se',      il  fr- 
self  b  *we-i  b*^ 


|(|'?V1 

n  the 

IS  h 


fri 


'k     night." 
TV      :ij)i..in  thanked  him  warmly  and  rejoined  his 


t  Hi: 


CHAPTER   XIII 


U 


v> 


THE   BEGGAR 

As  the  days  went  by.  Captain  Richard  Love  be- 
came a  well-known  figure  to  the  fashionable  world 
of  London  at  large,  as  well  as  to  all  grades  of 
society  in  the  more  immediate  neighbourhood  of 
his  own  house.  Among  the  fashionables  he  was  re- 
marked for  his  air  of  high-breeding  (which  seemed 
proof  alike  against  the  shrewdest  reverses  and  most 
startling  successes  at  play) ;  for  his  charm  of  per- 
son and  manner;  for  his  wit,  and  his  romantic, 
though  vague,  history.  The  poor  knew  him  for  his 
generosity  and  tenderness,  and  he  was  spoken  of  by 
every  beggar  and  unfortunate  person,  for  blocks 
around,  as  "  my  captain  "  or  "  my  young  gentle- 


man. 


Their  claims  of  ownership  existed  in  their 
love  and  gratitude  toward  him ;  and  it  was  not  long 
before  these  humble  admirers,  had  they  been  forced 
to  choose  between  the  captain's  smiles  and  the  cap- 
tain's shillings,  would  have  taken  the  smiles,  and 
gone  hungry,  with  warm  hearts.    He  had  a  way  of 

1S4 


The  Beggar 


135 


stepping  into  the  houses  of  these  people  as  a  gentle- 
man might  look  into  a  cottage  on  his  own  estate, 
with  a  paper  of  tobacco,  perhaps,  or  a  yellow  orange 
—  and,  if  need  were,  even  a  yellow  coin.  He 
preached  no  creed ;  he  seemed  not  to  be  bent  upon 
any  mission  save  that  of  good-nature ;  but  a  bishop 
could  not  have  been  held  in  more  honour  by  the 
sick  and  poor,  than  this  charming  young  captain. 
Also,  the  doors  of  the  mighty  stood  open  to  him, 
and  his  place  was  assured  in  every  drawing-room 
of  distinction  in  town.  At  Babcock's  he  was  a 
leader;  and  half  a  hundred  gentlemen  professed 
the  warmest  admiration  and  friendship  for  him,  in 
spite  of  the  considerable  sums  of  money  which  they 
lost  to  him  at  the  tables.  And  Sir  John  Petre,  a 
man  of  unusual  reserve  in  such  matters,  was  his 
open  friend. 

The  captain's  intimacy  with  the  baronet,  and  his 
frequent  visits  to  the  house  off  the  Strand,  did  not 
pass  without  comment.  People  did  not  doubt,  for 
a  moment,  but  that  Dorothy  was  the  attraction: 
for  that  young  lady  was  not  only  an  acknowledged 
beauty  but  something  of  an  heiress.  And  the  cap- 
tain would  be  looking  for  an  heiress;  for,  by  his 
own  confession,  he  was  without  property,  and  lived 
on  such  pay  and  prize-money  as  he  had  brought 


136 


Captain  Love 


with  him  from  Turkey.  Many  a  young  blood,  with 
lightened  pockets,  wagged  his  head  at  mention  of 
the  prize-money. 

Since  the  rescue  of  Joseph  Clark's  daughter  from 
the  house  on  the  heath  the  captain's  hours  of  soli- 
tude had  been  more  disturbing  than  ever.  Thoughts 
of  that  young  woman  were  hard  to  dismiss ;  even 
Dorothy's  beauty  had  not  touched  him  so  sharply; 
and  yet  he  could  not  let  his  mind  dwell  upon  her 
without  a  certain  daunting  of  the  spirit.  He  re- 
membered her  caress  with  strong  and  mingled  emo- 
tions; and  the  little  incidents  of  that  romantic  ride 
with  the  tenderest  longing.  But  behind  every 
thought  of  her,  like  a  black  cloud,  hung  the  horror 
of  those  two  years.  Though  he  had  set  out  for  the 
White  Heron  many  times  in  the  few  months  follow- 
ing that  strange  adventure,  he  had,  save  on  one  or 
two  occasions,  forced  himself  to  turn  back;  and  on 
those  visits  he  had  seen  the  lady  only  in  her  father's 
presence.  But  her  wonderful  eyes  had  spoken,  even 
though  her  voice  had  been  silent;  and  he  had  re- 
turned to  town,  on  both  occasions,  filled  with  long- 
ing and  an  unreasoning  sort  of  self-pity.  It  was 
after  the  second  of  these  visits  that  the  dream  of 
the  garden  came  to  him  again,  again  stirring  his 


m 


The  Beggar 


137 


spirit  to  depths  below  the  little  merriments  and  bit- 
ternesses of  the  common  day. 

For  all  his  apparent  recklessness,  Captain  Love 
shaped  his  course  with  discretion.  For  all  his  gaiety 
in  company  he  spent  many  bitter  hours  in  his  own 
apartments.  That  he  and  his  horse  and  his  servants 
(he  had  enlarged  his  establishment)  were  all  sup- 
ported by  money  won  at  play  worried  him  but  little. 
The  world  had  stripped  him,  and  the  world  must 
refund.  But  that  he  was  forced  to  receive  the  com- 
radeship of  Sir  John,  and  the  gentle  friendship  of 
the  baronet's  sisters,  under  siith  false  conditions, 
cut  his  pride  to  the  quick.  What  if  he  were  dis- 
covered—  held  up  to  the  scorn  of  his  friends  and 
t\?.  world  —  the  very  name  he  had  carried  so  gal- 
lantly tossed  back  in  his  face  for  a  He?  But  the 
rr  "»nths  went  by  and  brought  no  day  of  reckoning. 

After  days  of  fog,  Christmas  morning  broke 
bright  and  frosty  over  the  myriad  gables  and  nar- 
row streets  of  London.  Snow  had  fallen  during 
the  night ;  and  now  the  tiles  of  the  roofs  were  cov- 
ered with  the  shining  crystals,  steeples  were 
wreathed,  and  gables  wore  hoods  and  garlands  of 
white.  Urchins  blew  on  tingling  fingers  and  the 
p  >:jr  Slivered  over  scanty  fires.    Plumes  of  smoke 


138 


Captain  Love 


*   ftt' 


Ir. 


I 

i 

i 


\\ 


rose  heavenward  from  the  clustered  chimneys  of 
the  rich,  and  rags  and  furs  rubbed  elbows  in  the 
bright  streets. 

Captain  Love  turned  from  his  hearth  and  his 
breakfast-table  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  thin  volume,  fresh  from  the 
printers ;  and  in  his  heart  was  the  glow  and  charity 
of  the  season.  In  the  narrow  thoroughfare  below 
he  saw  that  which  stirred  both  his  interest  and  his 
pity.  A  man  of  large  and  gaunt  figure,  and  tattered 
garments,  leaned  feebly  against  the  wall  of  the 
building  opposite.  The  fellow's  feet  were  wrapped 
about  with  rags  and  his  head  was  uncovered.  His 
black  hair  was  tied  in  a  short,  stiff  queue;  in  his 
ears  were  rings ;  and  in  his  belt  a  knife  in  a  narrow 
sheath.  After  watching  him  for  a  few  moments, 
wondering  what  manner  of  person  he  could  be.  the 
captain  pulled  a  bell  in  the  wainscoting.  Presently 
a  young  footman  clattered  up  the  stairs  and  opened 
the  door.  The  captain  motioned  him  to  the  window 
and  pointed  out  the  strange  figure  below. 

"  A  seafarin'  man,  your  Honour,"  said  the 
servant. 

"  And  too  long  from  the  sea."  said  Love. 

"  Ay.  ye  may  well  say  so,  your  Honour,"  replied 
the  footman. 


if^'^mUrtVlS^^. 


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If' 


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.41 


The  Beggar 


139 


"  Ask  him  in,  Stubble,  and  give  him  iood  and 
drink,"  commanded  the  master. 

Then  he  pushed  his  armchair  from  the  table  to 
the  hearth  and  opened  his  book  again.  Now  and 
then  he  read  a  lino  or  two  aloud,  for  it  was  a  hook 
of  poetry.  He  had  been  thus  employed  for  more 
than  half  an  hour  when  the  footman  again  entered 
the  room. 

"  The  mariner  wishes  to  see  your  Honour,"  he 
said. 

"  Show  him  up,"  said  the  captain,  still  mumbling 
a  verse.  He  did  not  close  the  book  until  he  heard 
the  stranger's  rag-shod  feet  at  the  threshold.  Then, 
with  his  finger  between  the  pages  for  a  marker,  he 
turned  his  chair  sideways  to  the  fire  and  looked  up. 

"  Step  in,"  he  said. 

The  forlorn  man  of  the  sea  shuffled  into  the 
room,  gave  a  twitch  to  some  imaginary  projection 
from  his  forehead,  and  stared  around  him  at  the 
fine  rugs,  the  pictures  and  the  books,  with  unfeigned 
delight.  Then  his  gaze  rested  on  the  person  of  his 
host  and,  for  a  second,  envy  gleamed  in  his  dark 
eyes. 

"  I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  breakfast,"  said  Cap- 
tain Love. 

"  Ay,  sir,  I  did.     It  was  the  first  meat  an'  the 


140 


Captain  Love 


I'' 


1.|  ,i:i 


I 

i 


first  ale  I've  tasted  for  three  days,"  replied  the 
sailor. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  go  empty  on  Christmas 
Day,"  remarked  the  captain. 

True  he  could  not  remember  any  former  Christ- 
mas ;  but  the  spirit  of  the  season  seemed  familiar. 
The  other  smiled  grimly. 

"  Lord,  sir,  it's  bitter  hard  to  go  empty  any  day," 
he  said,  darkly.  "  The  ache  in  the  belly  kills  a 
man's  courage,  sir,  as  sure  as  it  thins  his  blood. 
But  what  will  a  gentleman  like  you  understand  of 
hunger  and  cold  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Sit  down,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  captain, 
waving  his  hand  to  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  hearth.    For  a  moment  his  guest  hesitated. 

"  Ye'll  not  be  making  sport  of  my  rags,  sir?" 
he  inquired.  "  I've  been  a  master-shipman  in  my 
day  —  and,  by  God,  there's  a  spice  of  pride  still 
left  in  me." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  cried  Love.  "  was  there  some- 
thing amiss  with  the  brew,  that  you  have  so  poor 
an  opinion  of  me?" 

The  shipman.  now  seated,  threw  out  his  hands 
with  a  gesture  adopted  from  some  foreign  land. 

"  May  I  drown  at  sea,"  he  cried,  "  if  I  ever  hope 
to  let  better  ale  slip  down  my  throat.     Nay,  sir," 


The  Beggar 


141 


he  continued,  "  I  have  the  highest  regard  for  your 
lordship,  if  I  may  make  fo  bold  as  to  say  it.  'Tis 
little  enough  I've  seen  of  gentlemen  in  my  rough 
life  —  and  them  broken  ones,  an'  small  credit  to 
the  names  they  had  the  grace  not  to  carry." 

He  stared  down  at  his  rag-bound  feet. 

"  Tell  me  something  of  your  life,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

The  beggar  moved  in  his  chair  with  a  quick 
shrug  of  impatience.  The  mask  of  servility  fell 
away  from  his  hawk-like  features  and  he  looked 
sternly  at  his  questioner. 

"  'Tis  no  Christmas  tale,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  far 
too  comfortable  to  court  the  danger  of  being  kicked 
frotn  your  door." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  most  humbly,"  said  Cap- 
tain Love.  "  God  knows  what  one  of  us  —  whether 
seaman  or  landsman  —  could  disclose  the  history 
of  his  life  .with  any  pride  in  it.  The  strong  and 
the  wise,  the  bully,  the  knave  and  the  fool  are 
equally  in  the  way  of  some  chance  disconcertion  — 
are  equally  the  toys  of  a  blundering  world." 

The  stranger  smiled  faintly,  and  allowed  his  eyes 
to  wander  over  the  books  along  the  wall. 

"  Sir,  I  cannot  agree  with  you,"  he  said.  "  No 
good  man  and  no  wise  one  would  have  led  such  an 


142 


Captain  Love 


if 


existence  as  mine.  A  man  may  fall,  and  rise  again, 
repentant,  with  something  of  his  honour  left  to 
him.  Nay,  sir,  though  the  world  may  be  a  blun- 
derer, a  man's  heart  works  his  destiny.  What  I 
have  done  1  have  done  —  and  the  sin  is  mine  own." 

"  But  circumstances !  "  cried  the  captain.  "  Surely 
you  cannot  deny  that  circumstances  may  force  inno- 
cent persons  into  equivocal  positions." 

**  It  is  quite  evident,"  replied  the  sailor,  "  that 
we  have  very  different  degrees  of  iniquity  in  our 
thoughts.  You  speak  of  an  equivocal  position,"  — 
here  his  voice  lowered  and  his  eyes  glowed, — 
"  and  I  am  thinking  of  black,  criminal  sins  for 
which  gallows  stand  and  hell  bums." 

The  captain  sighed.  Then  he  looked  keenly  at 
the  stranger.  For  a  beggar  in  rags  and  earrings, 
he  surely  displayed  a  remarkable  mind  and  an  un- 
usual fluency  of  expression.  His  guest  read  the 
look. 

"  I  have  travelled,  sir,  and  I  have  used  my  eyes 
and  ears;  and  in  the  long  sea-watches  I  have  read 
books  to  keep  me  from  my  own  thoughts,"  he 
said. 

During  the  remainder  of  his  stay  he  spoke  un- 
coiithly,  with  great  sea-oaths  to  garnish  the  merest 
trifles,  and  a  deal  of  foolish  laughter.     But  the 


u 


The  Beggar 


143 


acting  was  ill  done,  and  Captain  Love  felt  offended 
by  it. 

"  What  matter  if  you  seem  a  churl  or  an  edu- 
cated man  to  me  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Tis  not  likely  we 
shall  ever  meet  again.  So,  for  Heaven's  sake,  be 
honest  for  a  little  and  talk  with  your  own  tongue 
and  your  own  mind.  Your  present  conversation 
does  not  interest  me." 

The  stranger's  manner  again  changed.  He  got 
stiffly  to  his  feet  and  gazed  down  at  his  entertainer 
with  his  former  air  of  independence. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  I  am  a 
beggar,  —  a  forlorn  mariner  cast  on  a  leeshore  and 
brcJ<en  utterly.  And  now  I  will  thank  you  for 
your  charity  and  condescension,  and  go  my  way." 

The  captain  stepped  up  to  him. 

"  Perhaps  we  have  caught  a  glimpse  each  into 
the  other's  heart,"  said  fie,  "  and  if  I  see  something 
in  yours  better  than  ycu  yourself  know  of,  why 
consider  it  a  liberty  on  my  part?  If  I  prefer  you 
in  your  true  manner  mther  than  assumed,  why 
force  the  latter  upon  mc '  Come,  sir,  it  is  Christ- 
mas morning,  —  a  season  in  which  a  man  must 
treat  even  himself  with  charity." 

He  drew  a  small  purse  from  his  pocket.  "  That 
the  world  has  hit  us  both  some  shrewd  clouts,  it  is 


J  M .; 


'  . 


144 


Captain  Love 


more  than  likely,"  he  continued ;  "  but,  putting  the 
blundering::  of  the  world  aside,  here  is  a  Christmas 
present  from  one  sinner  to  another," 

llie  stranger  took  the  purse  with  a  trembling 
hand  and  bowed  low. 

"  We  have  both  failed  at  our  play-acting,"  he 
said.  "  You  will  not  believe  rne  an  ignoramus  and 
I  must  respectfully  doubt  your  pretensions  to  sin." 
He  raised  his  head  and  looked  steadily  into  the 
captain's  eyes.    "  God  bless  you,"  he  said,  gruffly. 


'   .1 


»f  '-,) 


If  I 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE   .  XPTAIN's   outbreak 

These  were  days  of  high  Hving  in  Merry  Eng- 
land. Though  people  of  fashion,  with  but  few 
exceptions,  drank  their  cocoa  in  bed,  the  breakfast- 
tables  continued  to  display  an  undiminished  variety 
of  hearty  dishes.  Dinner  was  eaten  early  in  the 
afternoon,  and  supper  (a  meal  as  elaborate  as  din- 
ner) came  on  at  about  the  fashionable  dining-hour 
of  ttvday.  And  in  the  merry  Christmas  season  the 
eating  and  drinking  were  doubled. 

Captain  Love  was  invu  H  to  dine  and  sup  at  Sir 
John  Petre's.  So,  short  >  dor  r^is  interview  with 
the  strange  sailor,  he  set  ■  i-^^r  !iis  friend's  house. 
His  clothes,  his  shoes,  ano  even  his  wig  were  new, 
in  honour  of  the  day ;  and  what  a  shrewd  sum  t^.o 
wig  had  cost  him !  His  small-sword  had  jewels  set 
in  the  silver  hilt.  As  he  threw  coins  to  every  beg- 
gar he  passed,  his  advance  was  attended  by  bless- 
ings and  humble  salutations.  As  it  was  Christmas, 
he  continued  the  distribution  of  alms  far  beyond  the 
bounds  of  his  own  district. 

14» 


flMi 


146 


Captain  Love 


ii   -I 


«;! 


"  God  bless  your  bright  eyes,  sir,"  cried  an  old 
women,  in  gratitude  for  his  casual  charity. 

At  that  he  paused,  felt  again  in  his  pocket,  and 
held  out  to  her  a  golden  guinea. 

"  Here,  goody,  is  something  brighter,"  he  said. 

"  Nay,  sweet  sir,"  she  cried,  shaking  her  old 
head,  "  ye've  given  freely,  —  three  bits  of  good 
silver,  —  an'  I'll  not  be  paid  for  speakin'  my  mind 
of  your  lordship.  Bright  eyes  ye  have  —  brighter 
than  the  gold  in  your  boxes  or  the  jewels  on  your 
lady's  hands  —  and  a  heart  of  gold,  I  know;  for 
have  I  not  loved  you  since  ever  ye  came  to  Lcmi- 
don." 

"  And  what  of  the  jewels  on  my  lady's  hands?  " 
he  asked,  smiling  down  at  her.  "  Have  you  ever 
seen  me  with  a  lady,  good  dame?  " 

The  old  body  laughed  happily,  for  here  was  food 
for  gossip  and  vanity  to  last  many  a  long  day. 
Seven  people  whom  she  knew  were  gazing  at  her 
and  the  fine  gentleman,  their  eyes  wide  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"'  The  sweetest  and  highest  in  the  kingdom  would 
be  yours."  she  said ;  "  and  though  my  heart  knows 
her  well,  I've  never  seen  her  with  these  old  eyes. 
She  is  young  and  fair,  and  proud  —  ay,  she  would 


The  Captain's  Outbreak 


147 


be  proud  of  many  things.    But  her  heart  is  tender 
as  your  lordship's." 

"  Ah,  goody,  you  flatter  shrewdly,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, with  a  fine  bow.  "  And  now  tell  me  — does 
this  paragon  of  loveliness  love  me  in  return  ?  " 

"  With  all  her  dear  heart,"  said  the  woman.  "  In 
parting  and  in  sorrow  her  love  does  not  fail." 

As  the  captain  turned  away  he  managed  to  drop 
the  guinea  into  a  basket  of  crusts  and  broken  meats 
which  hung  from  his  admirer's  arm. 

"  Now,  what  the  devil  did  she  mean  by  that  last," 
he  wondered. 

On  reaching  Sir  John's  house,  Captain  Love 
found  two  Dorset  squires,  who  had  followed  Doro- 
thy to  town,  already  there,  eying  each  other  with 
a  growing  hostility  that  took  but  small  account  of 
all  the  past  years  of  friendship.  Dorothy  was  the 
only  member  of  the  household  at  that  moment  in 
the  drawing-room.  To  her  the  captain  advanced 
eagerly,  but  with  an  air  of  shyness  strangely  at 
variance  with  his  reputation.  He  bowed  low  above 
her  hand. 

"If  you  will  allow  me  the  honour."  said  he,  and 
gave  her  the  thin  volrme  in  which  he  had  been 
reading  with  such  absorption  earlier  in  the  day. 


148 


Captain  Love 


He  had  carried  it  through  the  streets  unwrapped, 
pressed  against  his  left  side  by  his  left  elbow. 

The  lady  opened  the  book  without  so  much  as 
"  by  your  leave  "  to  the  gentlemen.  The  captain 
watched  her  anxiously,  and  the  youths  from  Dorset 
stared  at  nothing  with  absurdly  injured  expressions 
on  their  ruddy  faces.  The  title-page,  which  read 
simply,  "  Songs  of  London.  By  R.  L."  caused  the 
girl  to  lift  her  clear  eyes  to  Richard's  face  with  a 
glance  at  once  so  sympathetic  and  so  shy  that  his 
heart  jumped  insanely  under  his  faultless  coat.  For 
the  young  beauty  was  usually  most  careful  m  shad- 
ing the  lights  in  those  bright  windows  of  her  soul. 

Presently  Sir  John  and  Mrs.  Paddington  entered 
the  room.  Dorotliy,  who  by  that  time  had  read  the 
first  poem  twice  over,  darted  from  her  seat  and, 
pausing  at  the  captain's  side,  held  out  the  volume 
to  her  brother. 

"  A  poet  has  given  me  his  book,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing radiantly.  Courage  and  recklessness  flamed  in 
the  captain's  brenst.  Could  it  be  ?  T  hen  what  mat- 
tered his  landless  condition?  What  mattered  his 
lr>st  past,  his  insecure  present,  his  uncertain  future? 
The  studied  ontrol  of  his  emotions  so  long  sus- 
tained, went  the  way  of  the  wind. 


>ij'»'. 


i^^^S^^^'feS^S^jaa 


The  Captain's  Outbreak 


149 


"  And  his  heart  is  in  the  book,"  he  replied,  softly 
and  with  a  desperate  attempt  at  coolness. 

Then  Sir  John,  stepping  forward  briskly,  took 
the  book  from  his  sister's  hand  and  smiled  at  his 
friend.  "  I  am  not  surprised,  Dick,  to  find  you  a 
poet,"  said  he.  "  I  have  seen  many  suspicious- 
looking  sheets  on  your  writing-table." 

Richard  flushed  and  bowed,  and  stole  a  sidelong 
glance  at  the  girl ,  but  she  had  already  turned  her 
face  to  Mr.  Creighton,  and  her  slim  shoulder  to 
both  the  poet  and  his  gift.  Ah,  he  had  been  too 
daring!  And  that  sudden  intimate  unveiling  of 
her  eyes  had  meant  nothing.  He  had  been  a  fool 
to  forget  himself  so  —  and  to  forget  all  that  the 
ancients  and  modems  have  written  concerning  the 
whims  and  heartlessness  of  beautiful  women. 

Sir  John's  voice  brought  him  back  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  his  surroundings.  He  started,  and 
stared  confusedly  at  his  friend. 

"Oh.  the.o  poetic  airs!"  exclaimed  the  baronet, 
smiling  kindly  but  at  the  same  time  treating  him 
to  a  searching  glance.  "  Must  they  be  acquired  so 
immediately  upon  the  printing  of  one's  verses?  " 

In  a  flash  the  captain  was  himself  again. —  or. 
to  speak  more  truly,  he  was  again  that  graceful  and 


150 


Captain  Love 


II  :. 


undismayed  person  that  the  world  believed  him  to 
be. 

"  They  are  of  the  greatest  importance,"  he  re- 
plied. "  My  friends  and  the  world  shall  thus  know 
me  for  a  ptjet  without  troubling  themselves  with 
the  reading  of  my  verses." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Paddington,  gravely, 
"  that  your  verses  will  prove  very  pleasant  read- 
ing; but,  my  dear  captain,  I  think  I  have  never 
before  heard  of  a  poet  who  was  not  also  a  lover." 

"  My  dear  Mary,  how  on  earth  do  you  know  that 
Dick  is  not  one  of  the  most  desperate  of  lovers?  " 
asked  Sir  John,  with  his  eyes  on  the  captain. 

"  I  am  sure  v^'e  should  have  heard  of  it,  he  is 
such  a  well-known  figure  in  the  town,"  replied  the 
young  widow,  innocently. 

Richard  glanced  uneasily  at  the  baronet.  Then, 
to  Mrs.  Paddington : 

"  A  poet,  for  vanity's  sake,  often  decks  out  his 
muse  so  that  she  passes,  in  print,  for  a  mistress  of 
flesh  and  blood,"  he  said.  "  Tn  truth,  tlie  poor  devil 
can  seldom  afford  a  passion  more  material,  for 
one's  fitness  to  pay  court  to  a  fine  lady  is  measured 
by  lands  and  gold  rather  than  by  affection  and 
rhymes." 


The  Captain's  Outbreak 


151 


Even  Mrs.  Paddington  noticed  the  bitterness  in 
his  voice.  Sir  John  laughed  and  laid  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Come,  Dick,  this  is  hopeless,"  he  said.  "  The 
elegant  Captain  Love  must  first  discharge  his  serv- 
ants, sell  his  wardrobe,  ay,  and  change  both  his 
skin  and  hi-^^  manners,  —  before  he  can  hope  to  pass 
for  a  gentleman  of  Grub  Street.  Even  then  I  doubt 
not  his  muse  would  find  a  rival  of  flesh  and  blood." 

The  captain  looked  steadily  and  earnestly  into 
his  friend's  face.  Sir  John  returned  the  gaze  as 
gravely;  and  each  saw  that  shadow  which  the 
world  had  forgotten  in  the  one  case  and  did  not 
suspect  in  the  other.  Suddenly  they  felt  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Merton,  one  of  the  Dorset  gentlemen,  fixed 
on  them  inquiringly. 

"  After  all,  Dick,  it  is  Christmas  Day.  Let  us 
pledge  it,"  said  the  baronet  quietly. 

They  took  Mr.  Merton  along  with  them  to  the 
dining-hall.  Mr.  Creighton  scarcely  noticed  their 
departure.    Petre  filled  the  three  glasses. 

"  Long  life,"  said  Mr.  Merton,  with  all  his  atten 
tion  on  his  glass. 

"  Faith,"  murmured  the  captain. 
"  Hope,"  said  the  barcmet. 


152 


Captain  Love 


K- 


I 


The  Dorset  squire  swallowed  his  liquor  and  won- 
dered at  his  companions'  toasts. 

*'  You  left  out  charity,"  said  he. 

"  Then  we'll  try  again,"  said  their  host. 

Having  pledged  to  charity,  Mr.  Merton  hastened 
back  to  look  after  Mr.  Creighton  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  has  done  part  of  his  duty  and  would 
shirk  none  of  it.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone  out  of 
the  room,  Petre  turned  to  his  friend. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  "  let  me  tell  you,  as 
one  who  loves  you  as  a  brother  and  is  old  enough 
to  give  advice,  that  no  game  is  lost  until  death  takes 
a  hand  or  shame  puts  out  the  lights." 

The  ]  Dunger  gentleman  caught  the  other's  hand 
and  stood  close  to  him,  strangely  agitated. 

"  You  know  nothing  of  my  past,  John,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  told  me  nothing  of  it,"  replied  the 
baronet. 

"  And  yet  —  and  yet  you  trust  me?" 

"  As  my  own  brother." 

Then,  ignoring  a  voice  within  him,  the  pretender 
told  the  story  of  Nullwood  Lower  Farm,  and  the 
story  the  farmer's  daughter  had  told  him. 

The  baronet  was  deeply  moved;  but  moved  by 
pity  rather  than  surprise. 


1 4 


*  Jtry^.*^  / 


:-*f^^'M 


The  Captain's  Outbreak 


153 


"  It  was  cruel,"  said  he.  "  Ay,  bitter  cruel ;  but 
you  have  faced  it  like  a  man,  Dick." 

"  Nay,  I  have  not  faced  it,"  replied  the  other. 
"  I  am  a  liar  —  an  impostor.     Lord,  think  of  it 

—  a  fine  gentleman  without  a  name !  " 

"  You  have  the  name  you  bear,  and  which  you 
have  made  for  yourself,"  said  the  baronet,  kindly. 
"  Show  me  a  more  gallant  or  a  better  known  in 
London."  Then,  more  deliberately,  "The  name 
you  have  lost,  through  no  fault  of  your  own,  is 
yours  as  surely  as  Petre  is  mine.  You  were  robbed. 
The  doors  of  your  coach  were  carried  away,  so  that 
the  sight  of  the  arms  upon  them  should  not  set  the 
whole  country  on  the  heels  of  the  destroyers.  Ah. 
Dick,  perhaps  you  do  too  much  honour  to  the  simple 
baronet  of  Willington." 

"  Forgive  me,  my  friend,  if  I  put  you  to  a  test," 
returned  the  captain.     "  Whatever  my  real  name, 

—  great  or  small,  — it  is  lost,  and  my  assumed 
name  may  be  torn  from  me  at  any  moment.  And 
yet,  Sir  John,  I  have  the  presumption  to  love  your 
sister." 

"  My  sister,"  cried  Sir  John,  changing  colour. 
"Dorothy,"   replied  the  captain,   with   dry  lips. 
His  eyes  were  steady,  even  proud,  in  their  frank 


154 


Captain  Love 


,rK 


•  1- 


and  challenging  regard.  The  other's  wavered  and 
fell.  For  a  full  minute  they  stood  in  silence  at  the 
comer  of  the  table  in  the  great,  bright  room. 

"Does  she  know  of  this  —  of  your  love?" 
asked  the  baronet  at  last.  His  voice  was  thm  as  a 
whisper. 

"  My  lips  have  told  nothing  —  and  God  knows 
I  have  tried  to  keep  a  guard  on  my  actions,"  was 
the  low  reply. 

"  Do  you  think  she  feels  any  aflFection  for  you 
other  than  that  of  friendship? "  inquired  the  baro- 
net, with  his  eyes  still  on  the  floor. 

"  I  believe  her  heart  is  free  as  the  wind,"  re- 
plied the  other.  "  Ay,  and  cold  as  the  snow,"  he 
added,  bitterly. 

At  last  Sir  John  looked  at  his  friend,  and  both 
tenderness  and  shame  were  visible  in  his  face. 

"  Dick,"  he  .-aid,  "  this  story  of  your  misfortune 
has  increased  my  regard  for  you,  for  it  has  shown 
me  the  true  stuff  of  which  your  heart  is  made.  I 
had  thought  that  you  fought  some  battles  of  which 
we  knew  nothing;  and  now,  dear  lad.  I  view  with 
astonishment  the  odds  you  have  so  bravely  with- 
stood. Say  we  are  friends,  Dick,  —  better  friends 
than  ever." 


mrmam'm'm'. 


The  Captain's  Outbreak 


155 


"  You  are  the  soul  of  generosity,"  cried  the  cap- 
tain, huskily. 

"Nay,  I  am  a  monster,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Call  me  a  monster,  Dick !  Call  me  a  false  friend ! 
Your  forgiveness  but  makes  my  duty  the  harder  — 
for,  Dick,  I  must  ask  you  not  to  disclose  the  secret 
of  your  heart  to  my  little  sister,  until  —  until  your 
affairs  are  more  in  order." 

Richard  leaned  against  the  table.  Passion,  de- 
spair and  pride  struggled  in  his  face. 

"  Then  you  doubt  my  story?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  believe  every  word  you  have  told  me,"  re- 
plied the  other.  "  and,  God  knows,  my  heart  aches 
for  you.  But,  lad,  would  you  have  me  speed  you 
on  a  course  that,  mayhap,  would  bring  years  of 
sorrow  and  disgrace  to  both  you  and  Dorothy? 
Consider  your  own  fears  for  the  stability  of  your 
position.  Would  you  have  the  woman  you  love 
involved  in  the  danger  which  threatens  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  fool,"  cried  the  captain,  passionately, 
"  and  you  show  amazing  self-control  in  not  kick- 
ing me  from  your  door." 

The  baronet  gripped  his  arm  and  stared  into  his 
face. 

"Where  is  your  courage?"  he  asked.     "The 


tttmxtt^r 


156 


Cat  tain  Love 


woman  you  love  is  alive  and  happy.  A  year,  a 
month,  even  a  short  day  may  set  your  affairs  above 
any  danger.  And  in  the  meantime  you  have 
friends  and  distractions;  ay,  one  iriend,  whose 
sword,  money  and  name  are  ever  at  your  service, 
and  who  believes  you  the  truest  heart  in  England. 
Dick,  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  world  to  whom  I 
would  give  Dorothy  more  blithely  than  to  you. 
Ah,  lad,  is  it  so  bitter  a  thing  to  keep  so  sweet  a 
secret  in  one's  heart  for  a  little  while?" 


i^l 


J*'  ' 


CHAPTER   XV 


TROUBLE   WITH    CREIGHTON 

Mrs.  Paddington  had  never  before  found 
Captain  Love  so  gallant  and  so  entertaining  as  on 
that  Christmas  Day  and  evening.  At  first  she  won- 
dered if  John  had  plied  him  with  overmuch  wine 
during  their  prolonged  visit  to  the  dining-room; 
but,  upon  second  thought,  she  put  the  suspicion 
out  of  her  head.  His  stories,  at  dinner,  were  quite 
beyond  anything  she  had  ever  heard.  Even  young 
Mr.  Creighton,  whose  humour  was  as  stiflF  and 
heavy  as  the  clay  of  his  own  bean-fields,  laughed 
three  times.  As  for  the  good  Merton,  his  mirth 
lasted  through  the  entire  meal.  But  Sir  John  and 
Dorothy  listened  in  wonder  —  Sir  John  amazed  at 
a  spirit  that  could  so  cover  a  wounded  heart,  and 
the  girl  startled  by  an  inner  glow  of  pride  —  or 
was  it  love  ?    Was  there  another  man  in  all  London 

like  this  captain  who  had  given  her  his  poems? 

another  so  bright  of  eye,  so  quick  of  wit,  so  soft 
of  voice?    As  she  listened,  her  cheeks  glowed  and 

167 


MMta 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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2.8 

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■6^i    t'jsl    Mqii-!    Sireet 
Rochester.    Ne*    Vork  I -+609        uSA 

(,^16!    **82   -  0300  -  Phone 
{'u>)   288  -  "sqsg  -  fax 


158 


Captain  Love 


1 

mi 


»   .."! 


*     !|il 

^-U* 


her  eyes  matched  his  for  brightness.  But  not  once, 
during  the  meal,  did  he  look  at  her  with  more  than 
a  fleeting  glance.  And  that  she  could  not  under- 
stand, for  his  statement  concerning  his  heart  and 
his  book  had  not  escaped  her. 

More  guests  arrived  before  supper.  Among 
them  was  a  Lady  Anne  Oliver,  a  sturdy,  high- 
coloured  young  woman,  who  was  frankly  partial 
to  Captain  Love.  Dorothy  watched  them  in  a  spirit 
new  to  her;  and,  for  a  wonder,  there  was  some- 
thing to  watch.  The  captain  was  in  a  reckless 
mood  and  determined  to  keep  up  the  play  of  light- 
heartedness  at  any  cost  to  himself.  So  he  accepted 
Lady  Anne's  advances  with  an  unusual  warmth, 
whispered  in  her  ear,  picked  up  her  fan  three  times, 
and  sat  beside  her  at  supper.  And  Dorothy,  watch- 
ing covertly,  whenever  her  numerous  swains  would 
permit,  wondered  at  the  foolishness  and  fickleness 
of  Man. 

And,  all  the  time,  poor  Richard's  soul  was  on  the 
rack.  The  conversation  of  the  earl's  daughter  was 
animated  in  manner  rather  than  matter.  Her  eyes 
were  small,  and  attempted  more  than  her  Maker 
had  mtended  them  to  accomplish.  And  here  was 
the  poet  —  a  being  of  blood  and  fire  and  woe  — 
wringing  his  face  to  smiles  and  his  tongue  to  subtil- 


Trouble  with  Creighton 


159 


itics,  and  the  mistress  of  his  madness  in  the  same 
room.  The  strain  told  on  him,  and  by  the  time 
supper  was  over  he  was  in  no  mood  to  continue 
the  engagement.  So  at  ten  o'clock  he  went  home 
behind  the  big  footman,  and  smoker'  a  pipeful  of 
tobacco  by  the  fire.  Then,  swearing  that  he  was 
weary  of  gaiety,  weary  of  deceit,  —  ay,  weary  of 
life  itself,  —  he  retired  to  bed. 

The  morning  sunlight  was  gold  between  the  cur- 
tains of  the  windows  when  the  captain  awoke.  For 
several  minutes  he  lay  very  still,  trying  to  catch 
and  drag  the  essence  of  his  dream  into  the  common 
day.  His  heart  was  glad  and  tender.  Something 
haunted  him  deliciously,  and,  even  while  slipping 
from  him,  maintained  its  elusive  potency.  At  last, 
with  a  sigh  of  regret,  he  sat  up  and  pulled  aside  the 
curtains  of  his  bed.  Still  the  sweet  consciousness 
of  a  dreamland  intimacy  was  his,  and  though  he 
could  recall  not  so  much  as  the  note  of  a  voice  or 
the  flash  of  a  face,  the  magic  clung  to  him  like 
the  echoes  of  the  laughter  of  a  comrade  who  has 
but  just  left  one's  room.  But  this  thing  was  finer 
and  sweeter  than  laughter. 

Old  Tom  was  busy  with  lather  and  razor  before 
the  shadows  of  the  previous  day  returned  to  the 
captain's  mind.     Even  then  he  was  not  altogether 


160 


Captain  Love 


free  of  the  furtive  and  happy  influence  of  the  un- 
remembered  dream.  Yet  was  it  a  dream  ?  he  won- 
dered. Might  not  some  beautiful  and  gracious 
spirit  have  communed  with  him  in  his  sleep  ?  Again 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  to  drive  his  faculties 
back  that  fleeting  way  —  to  grasp  the  meaning  of 
that  elusive  delight ;  but  the  thing  was  too  fine,  too 
subtile,  for  capture,  and  the  very  effort  of  will, 
designed  to  accomplish  that  end,  dispelled  it  from 
his  mind. 

The  captain  was  early  at  Babcock's  that  day,  a 
trifle  paler  than  usual  but  spick-and-span  as  ever. 
He  went  up-stairs  immediately  and  found  Mr. 
Creighton  anxious  to  play  at  any  game  likely  to 
prove  diverting  to  the  mind.  The  Dorset  squire 
had  not  sat  long  before  he  discovered  that  the  cards 
div:erted  his  money  even  more  than  his  mind.  He 
emptied  his  pockets  with  an  ungenerous  oath. 
Love  immediately  laid  down  the  cards. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  stop?  "  he  asked. 

"Damn  it,"  replied  Mr.  Creighton,  "I'm  not 
afraid  of  the  play.  Creighton  of  Creighton  Riding 
can  afford  to  sit  at  cards  with  any  —  with  any  poet 
in  town." 

■ 

Ah,  so  there  was  where  the  shoe  pinched.  The 
captain  did  not  smile  at  the  other's  crudity.    He  put 


i  *  i; 


"^^W 


Trouble  with  Creighton  161 


his  winnings  back  on  the  table  and  rose  from  his 
chair. 

"What  d'ye  mean  by  that?"  criU  the  gentle- 
man from  Dorset. 

"  It  was  my  mistake.  Take  your  money,"  said 
Love,  softly. 

"  By  Gad !  "  cried  the  other.  "  D'ye  know  who 
you  are  speaking  to?  I'll  not  take  your  money, 
Master  Rhymster." 

The  captain's  thin  young  face  flushed  darkly.  He 
turned  to  a  waiter  who  stood  at  his  elbow  with  a 
tray  in  his  hands  containing  two  glasses  of  wine. 

"  Here's  something  for  you,"  said  he,  and  poured 
the  handful  of  gold  on  to  the  tray.  Then  he  lifted 
one  of  the  glasses,  drained  it  and  set  it  down.  He 
was  turning  away  from  the  equally  astonished  gen- 
tleman and  servant  when  the  former  clutched  the 
skirt  of  his  coat  from  where  he  still  sat  in  his 
chair. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Captain  Love,"  he  said,  his  voice 
thick  with  rage.  "Things  are  not  done  thus  in 
Dorset." 

The  captain  calmly  disengaged  the  fingers  from 
his  coat. 

"And  how  are  they  done  in  Dorset?"  he  in- 
quired. 


H 


1 


)        ■: 


■ 


•  I. 


l^k! 


'■■  '•'    i! 


it  Mf 


162 


Captain  Love 


"If  you  will  name  me  a  friend,"  replied  Creigh- 
ton,  "  Sir  Charles  Dart  will  call  upon  him ;  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  fully  informed  on  the  matter." 

The  captain  bowed  and  glanced  about  the  room. 
He  caught  sight  of  Hyde,  who  sat  at  another  table. 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Hyde  will  serve  my  purpose," 
he  said.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  to  trouble  any  one 
of  more  pressing  affairs  with  so  small  a  matter." 

He  stepped  over  and  asked  Hyde  to  do  him  the 
favour  of  looking  after  his  interests  in  the  threatened 
encounter  with  Mr.  Creighton.  The  authority  on 
pedigrees  was  only  too  pleased  to  connect  himself 
with  so  fashionable  an  affair;  and  shook  the  cap- 
tain's hand  and  called  for  wine  with  marked  demon- 
strations of  friendship. 

**  Make  your  mind  easy,"  said  he.  "  I'll  see  that 
you  get  the  fairest  chance  in  the  world  to  remove 
that  clodhopper  from  your  path." 

Love  did  not  like  the  implication  contained  in  Mr. 
Hyde's  speech.  It  awoke  in  him  a  sudden,  sicken- 
in*^  wonder  at  his  state  of  mind  of  the  previous 
evening.  What  cared  he  for  rivals  —  unless  it  were 
for  some  rival  in  his  dreams?  Creighton  or  Mer- 
ton?  —  let  him  have  his  way.  and  welcome. 

"  I  assure  you  he  is  not  in  my  way,  but  he  needs 


K.-  V 


Trouble  with  Creighton 


163 


enlightenment  on  a  small  question  of  breeding,"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Hyde  winked  at  L.s  wine.  He  was  far  too 
wise  to  swallow  any  such  stor)'  as  that ;  for  well  he 
realized  the  charms  of  Dorothy  Petre. 

Captain  Love  went  home  and  brooded  over  the 
dainties  of  life.  He  read  some  of  the  verses  from 
the  little  book  (which,  by  this  time,  had  made  a 
considerable  stir  among  the  fashionables)  and  found 
them  flavourless.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  his  dear  friend 
Sir  John  — a  very  pathetic  and  beautiful  produc- 
tion—  and  then  committed  it  to  the  flames.  He 
wondered  how  Dorothy  would  feel  if  he  were  shot 
or  run  through  in  the  duel ;  and  again,  how  such  a 
fate  to  Mr.  Creighton  would  aflFect  her.  He  strove 
to  call  up  the  lady's  image  to  his  mind's  eye;  and, 
succeeding,  he  viewed  it  with  indifference. 

"  What  am  I?  "  he  cried,  in  distress.  "  Nameless ! 
f  olkless !  hot  and  cold  in  love !  Dear  Lord,  I  am  not 
fit  to  be  alive !  A  night  —  and  I  am  changed !  A 
dream  —  and  my  heart  is  turned  about !  " 

Whereupon  he  fell  to  wondering  if  ever,  in  his 
lost  past,  he  had  faced  a  fellow-being  in  any  such  an 
encounter  as  now  threatened  him.  His  reverie  was 
broken  by  the  light  knock  and  hasty  entrance  of  Sir 


164 


Captain  Love 


;!'  I 


John  Petre.  With  a  sigh  of  mingled  relief  and 
shame,  he  arose  from  his  chair  and  grasped  his 
friend's  hand.  The  baronet  returned  the  greeting 
kindly  but  with  a  palpable  air  of  discomfort.  "  I 
have  been  at  Babcock's,"  said  he,  "  and  the  place  is 
full  of  talk  of  a  disagreement  between  yourself  and 
Creighton." 

The  captain  bowed  in  acknowledgment. 

"  I  was  pained  to  hear  it,  Dick,"  continued  Sir 
John.  "  I  had  thought  that  the  matter  was  dropped 
for  the  present —  in  fact,  if  my  memory  serves  me, 
I  had  your  word  to  that  effect  —  and  now  I  find 
you  at  open  warfare  with  the  gentleman  from  Dor- 
set." 

The  captain  flushed  under  his  friend's  words  and 
glance. 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  you,"  he  re- 
plie*^',  T  take  exception  to  your  view  of  my 

act!  1  gave  you  my  word  concerning  a  cer- 

tain muaer,  then  rest  assured  that  I  shall  keep  it. 
My  trouble  with  Creighton  is  due  to  his  damned  ill- 
breeding,  —  also,  it  is  of  his  own  picking,  —  and  if 
he  were  the  dean  of  a  cathedral  I'd  not  deny  him  the 
satisfaction  of  a  meeting." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  the  quarrel  was  without  pre- 
meditation on  your  part?"  asked  the  baronet. 


V:  !| 


Trouble  with  Creighton 


165 


"  Yes,"  said  the  captain. 

"  And  that  you  follow  it  with  no  other  motive 
save  that  of  redressing  an  insult  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain,  again. 

Sir  John  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the 
room.  The  other  watched  him  with  cool  eyes;  but 
his  cheeks  tingled  and  his  lips  were  dry. 

"Dick,"  said  the  baronet,  halting  before  him, 
"this  aflFair  will  cause  a  deal  of  unpleasant  com- 
ment. 'Twill  put  an  innocent  girl  in  a  very  un- 
favourable light  before  the  public ;  not  to  speak  of 
her  suflFering  if  either  of  you  fall  in  the  encounter." 

"  I  think  you  are  unreascwiable  in  thus  persisting 
that  the  lady  you  refer  to  is  concerned  in  the  mat- 
ter," replied  the  captain.  "  It  is  not  as  a  rival,"  he 
conti.iued,  "but  as  a  gentleman  grossly  insulted, 
that  I  am  engaged  to  treat  with  Mr.  Creighton." 

Sir  John  bowed  gravely,  very  pale  and  with  set 
jaw,  and  strode  from  the  room.  The  captain  paced 
up  and  down,  in  bitter  reflection. 

"  There  goes  my  friend,"  he  cried,  and  slapped 
his  hands  together  with  an  oath.  Though  con- 
vinced that  his  feeling  towards  the  baronet's  sister 
had  nothing  to  do  with  his  share  of  the  quarrel,  he 
could  not  blink  the  fact  that  her  shy  and  beautiful 
face,  working  through  Creighton's  jeaiousy,  was  at 


i-    ,s  *»-• 


166 


Captain  Love 


!■; 


:  r 

ll 


ih. 


the  heart  of  the  trouble.  A  desperate  sort  of  anger 
awoke  in  him.  He  remembered  stories  of  Doro- 
thy's coquetry  —  unpleasant  stories  that  had  come 
to  him  in  shreds,  from  no  particular  source.  But 
those  were  of  Dorset  and  of  the  few  months  of  her 
residence  in  London  before  his  time.  But  here, 
under  his  very  eyes,  were  Merton  and  Creighton 
kept  dangling,  undismissed  and  wasting  their  time 
and  money.  A  day  ago  she  had  been  lovely  enough 
to  die  for  —  lovely  enough  to  kill  a  man  for !  But 
now  he  wondered  that  Creighton  could  be  such  a 
fool  —  and  still  more  bitterly  he  wondered  that  he 
himself  had  been  such  a  fool.  He  flung  himself  into 
his  great  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
He  was  aroused  by  Mr.  Hyde  prodding  him  in  the 
shoulder. 

"  Cheer  up,"  cried  the  visitor,  "  for  you're  not 
dead  yet!" 

Love  sprang  to  his  feet  and  displayed  so  hag- 
gard a  visage  to  Hyde's  startled  eyes  that  the  jovial 
second  retreated  with  a  skip. 

*'  Dead !  "  he  cried.  "  I  would  to  Heaven  I  were 
dead  and  buried !  " 

But  he  was  the  first  to  recover  self-cor.ui-ol. 
Laughing  faintly,  he  pushed  a  chair  against  his 
friend's  legs  as  an  in\ .  ition  to  be  seated. 


Trouble  with  Crcighton  167 


"  Do  not  imagine  that  I  fear  either  lead  or  steel," 
he  said. 

Mr.  Hyde  rubbed  his  shins  and  accepted  the  prof- 
fered seat 

"  Maybe  it  is  your  first  affair  of  the  kind,"  he 
remarked,  not  unkindly.  "  And  if  so,  why,  'tis  no 
wonder  you  feel  a  trifle  upset." 

"  First  or  last,"  replied  the  captain,  "  I  am  no 
more  moved  by  the  thought  of  what  Mr.  Creighton 
may  do  to  me  than  if  he  were  an  old  woman  with 
a  broom-stick.  If  I  go  under  the  sod  — why, 
there'll  be  an  end  to  the  expense  of  maintaining  an 
establishment,  and  the  last  page  of  a  foolish  chapter 
turned  over.  If  I  live  —  ah,  there'll  be  less  satisfac- 
tion in  that,  I  must  admit,  though  I've  not  a  doubt 
but  that  some  one  in  Dorset  will  be  the  richer  for 
it." 

"Come,  come,"  exclaimed  the  other  uneasily, 
"you  mr  not  talk  lik  ■  a  rascally  <.  ...•  on  the 
b(  .rds.  Jart  ami  I  ha  ieci'ed  for  the  little  meet- 
ing. I  met  Sir  John  } \  re  a  few  minutes  ago  and 
told  him  of  it.  He  u  7oo<'  longh  to  say  that 
I  displayed  my  usual  taste  in  the  choice." 

"  Petre  i.:  firm  again^  ^..  id  the  captain.  "And 

'tis  that  which  troubles  t  —  for  he's  been  a  good 
friend  to  me  —  a   friend       r  beyond  my  deserts. 


:<i- 


•  I 


168 


Captain  Love 


But  the  affair  must  go  on,  though  it  part  me  from 
every  friend  in  the  world,  unless  Crcighton  gets 
down  on  his  knees  and  begs  my  pardon.  I  may 
be  landless;  but  I'll  swallow  no  man's  insult." 

"If  the  lady  should  ask  you  not  to  fig-'  .?"  in- 
quired Hyde. 

"  She  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain. "  I  judge  for  myself  in  these  matters.  No 
woman  is  concerned  in  my  affairs." 


1-'  i 


'yi 


(I 


'  .1' ' 

£■1  IT  ' 

fs    fli'i 

"  m  - 


■  I 


CHAPTER  XVI 


m 


IN   THE  DARK 

Dawn  was  but  a  gray,  cheerless  thinning  of 
gloom  along  the  eastern  horizon  when  Captain  Love 
and  Mr.  Hyde  stepped  into  the  closed  carfirj^'e 
which  was  to  take  them  to  a  ^eluded  spot  of  Mr. 
Hyde's  selection.  Love  folded  his  cloak  about  him, 
for  the  air  was  bitterly  cold,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
Shreds  of  slumber  c'ung  to  his  brain  despite  the 
exciting  and  desperate  venture  on  which  he  was 
bound.  Hardly  realizing  the  peril  awaiting  him, 
he  grumbled  at  the  jolting  of  the  carriage  and 
looked  back  on  his  warm  bed  with  peevish  regret. 
Mr.  Hyde,  seated  with  a  case  of  pistols  on  his 
knees,  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  other's  attitude. 

"  You  are  surely  a  cool  hand,"  said  he.  "  And 
I'll  make  so  bold  as  to  ventur.  ihe  assertion  that 
this  is  not  your  first  aflFair  of  t'le  kind." 

"  If  I  have  foug-ht  other  duol;,"  f'pHed  tl  ::c.p- 
tain,  fretfully  but  with  truth,  "  I'v  clean  forgot 
them." 


119 


170 


Captain  Love 


!  I. 


ir  I 


"  That's  pushing  the  heroic  attitude  a  trifle  too 
far  to  be  convincing,"  said  Hyde.  "  A  man  must 
be  either  a  fool  or  an  immortal  to  let  such  matters 
slip  his  memory." 

"  Call  me  what  you  please,"  murmured  the  cap- 
tain ;  "  but  an  you  love  me,  take  the  comer  of  that 
damn  box  out  of  my  ribs." 

By  this  time  the  carriage  was  out  of  town,  rat- 
tling and  jolting  along  over  ruts  of  frozen  mud. 
The  gray  light  pressed  against  the  windows  like  a 
fluid.  The  breaths  of  the  gentlemen  congealed  in 
frosty  vapour  on  the  air.  The  captain  drew  his 
cloak  more  snugly  around  him.  Mr.  Hyde  nursed 
the  great  box  on  his  knee,  in  which  lay  the  silver- 
mounted  instruments  of  death,  and  cursed  softly  at 
the  weather  and  his  friend's  unresponsive  mood. 
The  carriage  stopped  softly,  as  if  at  its  appointed 
destination,  the  doors  were  snatched  open  on  either 
side  and  masked  men  hurled  themselves  upon  the 
unready  gentlemen  within. 

The  struggle  was  brief.  The  captain's  arms 
were  still  in  the  folds  of  his  cloak  when  he  was 
overpowered,  gagged,  blindfolded  and  bound.  The 
only  resistance  he  was  able  to  make  —  a  vicious  kick 
—  had  affected  no  one  but  the  innocent  Hyde,  and 
had  so  suddenly  deprived  that  indignant  gentleman 


^l  I  .1  i 


In  the  Dark 


171 


of  his  breath  that  he  was  captured  without  so  much 
as  the  utterance  of  a  protest. 

Captain  Love  felt  strong  hands  prop  him,  with- 
out violence,  in  the  seat  from  which  he  had  been 
so  unceremoniously  hurled.  A  strong  shoulder 
pressed  him  cwi  either  side.  Again  the  carriage  was 
set  in  motion,  and  for  a  few  minutes  rolled  smartly 
forward.  Though  the  captain  could  neither  see  nor 
hear,  he  was  able  to  follow  something  of  what  was 
taking  place  by  the  sense  of  feeling.  He  sat  very 
quiet  (what  else  could  he  do,  with  his  wrists  tied 
behind  his  back  and  his  ankles  crossed)  and  strug- 
gled with  his  scattered  wits.  He  had  been  handled 
softly,  though  surely.  Not  a  shot  had  been  fired. 
He  had  not  received  so  much  as  a  blow  from  a 
pistol-butt.  What  by  all  that  was  miraculous  did  it 
mean?  It  could  not  be  of  Buckley's  planning,  or 
he'd  have  received  no  such  gentle  treatment. 

Suddenly  the  carriage  came  to  a  standstill  with  a 
violent  jolt,  and  Captain  Love  felt  himself  being 
lifted  from  the  seat,  and  carried  a  short  distance. 
He  could  hear  nothing,  so  ponderous  was  the  cloth 
that  had  been  tied  around  his  head  to  blindfold 
him.  But  his  nose  was  clear.  He  caught  the  odour 
of  tobacco  smoke  and  gin-toddy.  Then  he  was 
laid  gently  on  a  bed,  the  gag  was  removed  from 


172 


Captain  Love 


his  jaws,  and  food  and  drink  were  forced  on  him  by 
an  unseen  hand.  At  first  he  resisted  these  atten- 
tions; but  soon  realizing  that  if  his  captors  wished 
to  put  an  end  to  him  they  need  not  go  to  the  trouble 
of  poisoning  his  liquor,  and  feeing  honestly  hungry, 
he  swallowed  all  that  was  put  to  his  lips.  Feeling 
much  better  for  the  strange  repast  (though  he  was 
no  great  admirer  of  the  Holland  drink),  he  asked 
to  be  set  up  a  little  higher  against  the  pillows  and 
to  have  his  hands  tied  in  front  instead  of  behind. 
Being  obliged  in  both  requests,  he  took  heart. 

"  I  have  ten  pounds  in  my  pocket,"  said  he,  "  and 
will  pledge  myself  to  the  payment  of  twenty  more, 
without  question,  if  you  will  but  free  me  and  set 
me  on  the  road  to  Dipper  s  Common.  I  have  an 
engagement  —  an  affair  of  honour  —  and  my  repu- 
tation is  gone  if  you  delay  me  a  minute  longer." 

He  felt  the  fumbling  of  hands  behind  his  head 
and  straightway  the  bandage  was  pushed  clear  of 
his  ears. 

"  Don't  worry  about  your  engagement,  my  lord," 
said  a  gruff  voice,  "  for  t'other  gentleman  be  in  a 
like  plight." 

He  expressed  his  relief  at  the  news,  and  his  won- 
der at  the  meaning  of  the  whole  affair.    Highway- 


]'t  '  J 


In  the  Dark 


173 


men,  as  he  knew  to  his  sorrow,  were  not  always 
so  considerate  in  the  treatment  of  their  victims. 

"  Then  what  d'ye  want  of  me,  if  not  the  money  ?  " 
he  asked. 

He  heard  the  murmurings  of  a  stealthy  conversa- 
tion, and  presently  the  same  gruff  voice  replied  that 
the  money  was  the  thing,  after  all.  Immediately  a 
hand  went  through  his  pockets  and  relieved  him  of 
the  ten  pounds  and  his  big,  gold  repeater. 

For  many  hours  the  captain  continued  to  recline 
on  a  bed  that  he  could  not  see,  and  to  carry  on  a 
fragmentary  conversation  with  his  invisible  jailors. 
He  took  refreshment  from  their  hands  more  than 
once,  for  his  own  remained  bound  in  his  lap.  He 
even  smoked  a  pipe-full  of  tobacco  whi'-  one  of  the 
hidden  robbers  held  the  bowl, 

"  I  tell  you  frankly,"  said  he,  "  that  I  mistrust 
this  affair  entirely  and  lay  it  to  the  credit  of  some 
personal  grudge  rather  than  a  desire  for  spoils  on 
the  part  of  any  ordinary  thief  and  murderer  of  the 
road.  I  make  no  doubt  but  'tis  the  boasted  Dorset 
manner  of  giving  and  receiving  satisfaction  —  and 
a  damn  safe  one,  too." 

An  uneasy  silence  followed  this  frank  statement 
of  suspicion.    It  lasted  until  some  one  clattered  on 


174 


Captain  Love 


a  door  with  a  cudgel;  then  the  captain  was  again 
gagged  and  deafened,  lifted  from  the  bed  and 
thrust  into  a  carriage.  He  made  not  the  slightest 
movement  of  resistance ;  but  inside  his  passive  be  ly 
he  nursed  his  wrath  againt-t  Mr.  Creighton,  hav- 
ing decided  that  the  Dorset  squito  was,  beyond 
question,  the  instigator  of  the  cowardly  business. 
He  vowed  in  his  heart  that  blood  alone  should  wipe 
this  indignity  from  his  conscience  —  that  even  his 
dearest  friend  would  not  play  such  a  boorish  game 
upon  him  witli  impunity  —  and  at  that  thought  Sir 
John  Petre,  as  he  had  last  seen  him,  flashed  into  his 
mind.  Could  it  be,  he  wondered,  that  the  baronet 
had  a  hand  in  this  postponement  of  the  duel?  He 
recalled,  with  agitation,  his  friend's  anxiety  to  stop 
the  aflfair  and  his  evident  displeasure  at  the  failure 
of  the  argument  he  had  advanced  to  that  end.  He 
set  his  teeth  on  the  gag  in  his  mouth.  The  rage  of 
humiliation  shook  him  like  a  chill  of  fever.  Name- 
less he  might  be  —  nameless  and  landless,  and  with 
only  the  gaming-tables  between  himself  and  starva- 
tion —  but  such  treatment  he  would  not  receive  sub- 
missively from  any  man  under  the  canopy  of  God's 
heaven. 

At  last  the  carriage  came  to  a  standstill,  a  door 
was  opened,  and  strong  arms  again  lifted  and  car- 


In  the  Dark 


175 


-£ 


ried  the  helpless  captain.  Hands  had  him  by  the 
shoulders  and  the  feet.  He  marked  the  slow  ascen- 
sion of  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  again  felt  himself  de- 
posited on  a  bed  —  but  this  time  a  bed  of  fragrant 
linen  sheets  and  yielding  mattresses. 

For  several  minutes  the  captain  lay  quiet,  at  full 
length,  glad  to  be  out  of  the  jolting  carriage  and 
raw  air.  He  was  desperately  sleepy;  but  it  would 
never  do  for  him  to  give  up  without  some  further 
effort  towards  winning  his  freedom.  Though  he 
no  longer  entertained  any  fears  of  violence,  he  felt 
that  the  sooner  an  end  was  put  to  his  equivocal  posi- 
tion the  better  for  his  dignity.  He  raised  his  im- 
prisoned hands  above  him  and  openly  pulled  wrist 
against  wrist.  As  this  demonstration  passed  with- 
out protest,  he  decided  that  he  was  alone.  So  he 
strained  again  at  the  bindings,  and,  to  his  intense 
satisfaction,  soon  got  free  of  them.  In  a  second  the 
bandage  was  snatched  from  his  eyes  and  ears,  and 
the  gag  of  linen  from  his  weary  jaws.  Then,  be- 
fore attending  to  his  feet,  he  sat  up  and  looked  about 
him,  fully  expecting  that  the  cowardly  jc^e  had 
ended  in  his  own  room.  But  a  glance  discovered 
to  him  his  mistake  and  added  bewilderment  to  his 
anger.  The  room  upon  which  he  looked  out 
through  a  slit  in  the  bed-curtains  was  as  large  and 


176 


Captain  Love 


as  comfortable  as  his  own,  but  it  was  not  his  own. 
A  fire  burned  low  on  a  wide  hearth,  and  the  pulsinj; 
light  touched  here  and  the-  e  on  gilt  and  silver.  He 
stared  about  him,  with  the  most  anxious  scrutiny, 
and  listened  for  some  sound  of  life  with  an  intensity 
that  seemed  to  strain  his  ears.  But  he  was  re- 
warded by  neither  a  sight  nor  a  sound  to  denote  the 
presence  of  any  occupant,  save  himself,  of  the 
strange  and  shadowy  room. 

After  a  minute  spent  in  nervous  contemplation  of 
his  surroundings,  the  captain  h^^tily  unfastened  the 
cord  from  his  -nkles  and  slipped  noiselessly  to  the 
floor.     At  the  same  moment  something  slid  from 
the  coverlet  and  struck  his  foot.     He  recovered 
promptly  from  the  shock,  for  he  was  not  a  coward, 
and,  stooping,  put  his  hand  on  his  own  gold  repeater. 
"  Honest  robbe  -s,"  he  muttered. 
He  turned  to  the  bed  and  felt  up  and  down  the 
sheets  until  the  ten  pounds  which  those  remarkable 
robbers  had  divested  him  of  were  collected  under  his 
fingers.    He  slipped  them  into  a  pocket  without  loss 
of  time,  and  tiptoed  cautiously  from  the  room.  The 
passage  without  was  in  darkness,  but  a  lanthom, 
burning  in  the  hall  below,  sent  a  faint  glimmer  half- 
way up  the  staircase.     The  captain  could  hear  no 
sound  save  the  furtive  whistling  of  his  own  breath 


bH 


In  the  Dark 


177 


and  the  dull  flutter  of  his  own  heart.  With  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  he  set  his  hand  to  the  rail  and 
fled  down  the  polished  stairs.  The  doors  were  un- 
fastened, and  gave  to  his  hand.  In  another  second 
he  was  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  running  west- 
ward as  if  the  devil  were  at  his  heels. 

At  last,  after  futile  wanderings,  the  captain 
reached  the  narrow  portal  of  his  own  house.  The 
whole  city  seemed  to  be  either  dead  or  sunk  in 
slumber,  and  sky  and  pavements  alike  were  black 
as  the  muzzle  of  a  cannon.  The  captain  shoved 
noiselessly  at  his  door.  To  his  surprise  he  found 
it  unlocked.  He  entered  on  tiptoe  and  ascended  the 
stairs  without  a  stumble.  In  his  bedroom  the  fire 
was  out.  He  struck  a  light  and  soon  had  the  candles 
on  the  mantel  palely  Eiflame.  Taking  one  in  his 
hand,  he  stepped  over  to  see  thai;  his  bed  was  ready 
for  the  night.  He  pulled  back  the  crimson  curtains 
—  and  t'lere.  gagged  and  bound  and  with  a  brace  of 
pistols  on  his  chest,  lay  Mr.  Creighton  of  Dorset. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  DAY  AFTER 

Captain  Love  freed  his  rival  in  short  order. 
They  laced  each  other  with  flashing  eyes  and  set 
jaws. 

"  What  in  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  cried 

the  captain. 

"By ,  do  you  dare  ask  me  that?  "  stuttered 

Creighton,  his  tongue  dry  with  wrath. 

"  Coward,"  cried  the  other,  who  was  past  rea- 
son. "  Is  this  the  way  affairs  of  honour  are  set- 
tled in  Dorset  ?  " 

Creighton  stared  blankly. 

"You  chicken-hearted  rascal,"  said  he,  at  last, 
one  would  think  that  it  was  you  who  had  been 
gagged  and  bound  and  trundled  over  the  country, 
to  hear  you  talk." 

"  You  fool,  and  who  else  was  it?  "  cried  Love  — 
then,  in  a  flash  of  common  sense,  he  realized  that 
he  had.  but  a  moment  past,  relieved  his  rival  from 
the  same  predicament  from  which  he  had  so  lately 
helped  himself. 

178 


« 


,1 


The  Day  After 


179 


"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  hastened  to  say,  and 
briefly  related  his  own  ad  entures. 

Mr.  Creighton,  looking  vastly  pale  and  shaken 
in  the  candle-light,  lowered  his  feet  to  the  floor  and 
extended  his  hand. 

"  We've  been  made  fools  of,"  said  he,  "  and  by 
an  intimate,  I'll  swear.  But  the  thing  was  bungled 
at  the  end  of  it,  and  here  I  am  in  your  house  —  and 
you,  no  doubt,  were  in  mine." 

The  captain,  who  had  the  hand  of  his  enemy  in 
his,  led  him  over  to  a  chair.  His  heart  was  soft- 
ened to  the  gentleman  from  the  south.  He  pro- 
duced wine,  and  they  drank  t«..gether  with  the  sin- 
cerest  expressions  of  friendship.  The  common  in- 
dignity had  wiped  out  the  hostility  and  the  insults ; 
and  not  once,  while  they  bemoaned  the  misadven- 
tures of  the  day  and  cursed  the  unknown  kidnap- 
pers, did  the  absurdity  of  their  present  position 
occur  to  them.  Here  they  were,  knee  to  knee  and 
glass  to  glass,  pledging  each  the  other  in  the  loyalest 
terms  and  vovving  to  unearth  and  bring  to  confu- 
sion the  rogue  who  had  kept  them  from  engaging 
together  in  mortal  combat. 

"And  the  dirty  rag  they  thrust  between  my 
jaws,"  moaned  Creighton,  and  straightway  swal- 


H 


I .  ii 


i 


K 


n 


180 


Captain  Love 


lowed  more  port  as  if  to  wash  the  taste  of  it  from 
his  mouth. 

Captain  Love  would  not  let  his  late  enemy  go 
home  at  that  uncomfortable  hour.  He  gave  him  his 
own  bed  and  retired,  himself,  to  a  couch  in  the 
sitting-room.  In  the  morning  the  captain's  servant 
shaved  them  both,  and  they  breakfasted  together 
most  amiably.  As  soon  as  the  man  was  out  of  the 
room  they  once  more  threshed  out  the  incidents  of 
the  preceding  day.  Now  the  matter  seemed  even 
more  outrageous  and  bewildering  than  it  had  the 
night  before.  Could  it  be  that  Mr.  Hyde  and  Sir 
Charles  Dart  were  at  the  bottom  of  it?  Captain 
Love  felt  certain  of  Hyde's  innocence,  remembering, 
with  a  quick  smile,  that  gentleman's  anxiety  to  have 
the  fight  take  place  decently  and  in  order.  But  he 
did  not  feel  so  sure  of  Sir  Charles ;  and  Creighton, 
for  his  part,  did  not  consider  Mr.  Hyde  to  be  above 
suspicion.  They  argued  the  matter  in  the  most 
friendly  spirit  —  and  even  while  they  argued  the 
young  footman  opened  the  door,  and  Mr.  Hyde 
stepped  in. 

"Well,  by  gad,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hyde,  starin^r 
with  open  amazement  at  ihe  domestic  scene  before 
him.    The  break  f asters  returned  his  gaze  with  no 


.{■ 


The  Day  After 


181 


lack  of  interest.  His  clothing,  usually  so  faul  ess, 
was  rumpled  and  pulled  aslant.  His  wig  wah  all 
awry  and  he  carried  neither  sword  nor  walki  tg- 
cane.  His  face  was  pale  and  unshaven,  and  alx  ve 
his  left  eyebrow  shone  a  ted  and  purple  lump. 
Perhaps  never  before  had  the  master  of  pedigrees 
paid  a  morning  call  in  so  sorry  a  pligf  * 

"And  have  you,   too,  been  trui,.-  d  hVmd 

folded?"  inquired  the  captain,  adva  to  wel- 

come his  dishevelled  friend. 

Mr.  Hyde  sputtered  an  oath  and  at  Mr. 

Creighton  under  drooping  lids. 

"  You  may  speak  freely,"  continn       Love 
Creighton  and  I,  you  may  be  sure,         i  lis! 
sympathy." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  cried  the  visi  *-  "  thai  Mr. 
Creighton  also  has  been  dragged  fr.  m  p  to  fy><;t. 
deaf  and  dumb  and  blind,  and  ?    Stst  t  it© 

his  bed  to  afford  disrespectful  ami  emen;         is  /wn 
servants." 

The  captain  laughed. 

"  Mr.  Creighton  was  tumbled  into  my  bees  he 
replied,  "  and  I  into  his.  Otherwise,  the  t  atment 
was  the  same." 

Mr.  Hyde  sat  down  at  that,  evidently  somewhat 


"  for 

-iih 


182 


Captain  Love 


)•( 


yi      > 


mollified  to  hear  that  the  outrage  had  not  been 
practised  on  him  alone.  He  even  accepted  a  slice 
^f  cold  beef  and  a  pot  of  ale. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  he  said,  and  looked  in- 
quiringly at  Creighton. 

The  Dorset  squire  shook  his  head  and  reached  for 
the  tankard. 

"  No  more  do  I,"  said  he,  and  went  on  with  his 
eating. 

He  was  not  one  to  let  a  mystery  spoil  his  appetite. 

"  It  seems  as  if  they  handled  you  more  roughly 
than  they  did  either  of  us,"  remarked  the  captain. 

Hyde  put  his  finger  very  tenderly  on  the  lump 
above  his  eye. 

"Twas  the  comer  of  the  pistol-box."  he  said. 

"  The  d thing  was  on  my  knees,  and  when  the 

fight  began  I  tried  to  defend  myself  with  my  feet, 
and  so  hove  it  up  against  my  head." 

Creighton  chuckled  at  that,  though  his  mouth 
was  full ;  but  as  Hyde  shot  an  indignant  glance  at 
him  he  hastened  to  mumble  that,  for  his  own  part, 
he'd  gone  under  like  a  lamb. 

"  T  was  as  helpless  as  this  round  of  beef,"  he 
added,  and  took  up  the  carver  to  replenish  his 
plate. 

Later  in  the  day  the  three  indignant  gentlemen  — 


J 


The  Day  After 


183 


Mr.  Hyde  had  repaired  his  toilet  —  set  out  for  the 
house  of  Sir  Charles  Dart,  to  inquire  if  the  Wilt- 
hire  baronet  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  ki  a- 
nappers.  But  Sir  Charles  had  started  for  the  coun- 
try early  that  morning,  and  had  left  neither  his  ad- 
dress nor  informatior  concerning  the  date  of  his 
return,  with  his  butler.  Creighton  fumbled  his  cane 
and,  with  an  embarrassed  glance  at  the  captain,  sug- 
gested a  call  (  John  Petre. 

"By  j''  .IS,"  replied  Love,  heartily  —  then, 
catching  I.  -de's  eye,  his  face  hardened.  He  looked 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  laid  a  hand  on  Creigh- 
ton's  wrist. 

"What  mean  you?"  he  asked;  but  Crei^,  .ton 
only  shook  his  head  and  took  snuff. 

Mr.  Hyde  was  more  at  his  ease. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  he,  "  you  told  me  that 
Sir  John  was  a^'ainst  a  certaiu  little  affair  in  which 
we  three,  a  short  time  ago,  were  all  more  or  less 
interested.  A  thought  has  come  to  me  —  a  mere 
shadow  of  a  thought." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  exclaimed  the  captain, 
vehemently.  "  Petre  would  be  the  last  man  to  med- 
dle so  between  gentlemen." 

Hyde  turned  to  Creighton. 

"  Did  i.jr  mutual  friend  Sir  John  Petre  try  to 


184 


Captain  Love 


1)1 


I'iFi 


dissuade  you  from  —  from  the  little  aflfair  I  just 
mentioned  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ay,  there's  no  use  my  denying  it,"  replied 
Creighton,  guiltily.  "  Gad,  he  was  stubborn  as  a 
hog  about  it." 

"  He  would  hardly  go  to  such  lengths,"  cried  the 
captain.  "  Why,  we're  all  his  friends !  Nay,  he'd 
never  carry  his  whim  so  far  —  a  man  of  the  world 
like  Sir  John.  Come,  we  shall  step  into  Babcock's 
and  wash  this  unworthy  suspicion  from  our  hearts." 

"  Nay,  captain,"  said  Creighton,  heavily.  "  I,  for 
one,  will  step  around  to  Sir  John  Petre's.  By  gad, 
now  that  the  thing's  in  my  mind,  it  itches  me  like  a 
flea.  We  don't  mismanage  our  friend's  affairs  of 
honour  so  in  Dorset." 

The  captain  hung  back.  He  had  a  gjeat  fear  in 
his  heart  that  the  outrage  might  be  traced  to  the 
door  of  his  best  friend.  If  so,  could  even  he  excuse 
him? 

"  Petre  is  a  Dorset  man,"  he  said,  "  so  you  may 
be  sure  he  had  no  hand  in  that  low  and  treacherous 
villainy." 

"  Under  the  circumstances,"  began  Creighton, 
and  blew  his  nose  on  a  yellow  handkerchief,  like  a 
farmer  at  a  fair. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Hyde.    "  Circumstances  play  the 


M-  i 


The  Day  After 


185 


very  devil  with  the  best  of  us.  Captain,  if  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  await  us  at  Babcock's,  Mr.  Creigh- 
ton  and  I,  with  the  nicest  circumspection,  will  look 
into  this  matter.  I  assure  you  it  is  our  duty,  as 
gentlemen,  to  do  so.  Honour  will  suffer,  other- 
wise." 

Captain  Love  seated  himself  in  the  lower  room  of 
that  renowned  place  of  entertainment.  The  wine  he 
drank  might  have  been  water,  for  all  the  pleasure  it 
gave  him.  What  if  this  suspicion  of  Creighton's 
and  Hyde's  should  prove  true?  The  baronet  had 
befriended  him  in  a  strange  city ;  and  was  this  good 
friendship  to  be  sacrificed  to  a  thing  called  honour  — 
a  thing  of  passion  and  blood,  paraded  by  every 
swaggering  bully  in  town  ?  And  what  was  he,  who 
was  not  even  sure  that  the  name  he  bore  was  his 
own,  to  make  such  a  disturbance  in  the  name  of 
honour?  If  Petre  were  responsible  for  the  affair  of 
the  day  before,  then  it  was  all  for  the  sake  of  his 
sister.  So,  if  he  was  forced  to  bring  his  friend  to 
account,  then  the  blame  was  hers.  Ay,  for  all  her 
shy  glances  and  blushing  cheeks,  the  blame  was  hers. 
It  was  for  love  of  her  that  the  Dorset  squire  had 
picked  the  quarrel;  and  (if  Hyde's  guess  should 
prove  correct)  it  was  to  shield  her  name  that  the 
meeting  had  been  so  ridiculously  perverted.     He 


M 


186 


Captain  Love 


was  conscious  of  a  swift,  sneering  anger  tov.ard  the 
beautiful  girl. 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  cried  the  spirit  within  him,  "  the 
whole  world  shifts  under  my  fingers.  Nothing  is 
steadfast,  nothing  sure.  Even  the  unreasonable, 
fine  madness  of  love  slips  from  me,  though  I 
masquerade  under  the  very  name  of  it.  But  a  few 
days  ago  my  heart  was  afire  with  a  sweet  and 
foolish  courage;  windmills  must  have  tumbled  be- 
fore my  onset ;  and  now  only  my  brain  is  alive  and  I 
suffer  the  most  rascally  treatment  with  no  more 
heroic  feelings  than  those  of  bitterness  and  regret. 
I  face  the  affairs  of  day  with  my  heart  and  brain 
befuddled  with  wisps  of  dream." 

He  called  for  more  liquor,  drank  it  eagerly,  and 
sat  for  half  an  hour  in  an  agony  of  doubt.  His 
position  seemed  a  mockery,  and  London  a  pit  of 
torment.  He  forgot  his  luck  at  play,  his  booV  of 
verses  and  his  unsurpassed  wardrobes.  He  could 
only  see  himself  as  a  loveless,  landless  and  nameless 
vagrant  on  the  verge  of  a  quarrel  with  the  one 
friend  of  his  heart. 

The  captain's  bitter  reverie  was  disturbed  by  the 
entrance  of  Hyde  and  Creighton.  A  glance  at  their 
faces  confirmed  his  worst  fears.    They  approached 


I  . 


The  Day  After 


187 


the  table  at  which  he  sat,  and  leaned  to  him  across 
it. 

"  Sir  John  Petre  is  out  of  town,"  whispered 
Creighton. 

"  They  believe  he  has  gone  to  his  place  in  Dor- 
set," said  Hyde,  "  and  they  do  not  know  when  he 
intends  to  return." 

"  You  did  not  see  Sir  John  ?  "  queried  the  cap- 
tain, aghast. 

Creighton  laughed  shortly  and  harshly  and 
slammed  his  great  palm  on  the  table. 

"  He's  gone,"  said  he.  "  Run  to  earth.  Damme, 
but  I've  half  a  mind  to  spur  after  him  an'  hunt  him 
out  of  Dorset  myself.  H  he  thinks  he  can  play  such 
tricks  on  a  Creighton,  by  h ,  he's  mistaken! " 

Hyde  nodded.  "  I'm  a  man  of  peace,  myself," 
he  said  —  "  but  —  but  this  is  hard  to  swallow." 

Love  got  to  his  feet  unsteadily,  like  one  far  gone 
in  wine.  His  young  face  was  white  as  death  and 
he  brushed  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"  I  must  go  home."  he  said,  and  passed  'round 
the  table  and  through  the  doorway. 

Creighton  looked  at  Hyde. 

"  The  young  cock's  put  about,"  he  remarked. 
"  He's  lost  interest  in  the  hunt,  I'll  swear,  now  that 
we're  away  on  the  true  scent." 


188 


Captain  Love 


ti<i 


1|i 


"  The  circumstances  are  unusual,"  replied  Mr. 
Hyde,  with  a  keen  glance  at  the  other. 

"  Damn  the  circumstances,"  cried  Mr.  Creighton. 
And  then,  in  a  lower  tone,  "I'm  done  with  the  breed, 
sir,  and  they  couldn't  call  me  back  if  they  went  on 
their  bended  knees.  A  baronet  he  may  be  —  an'  his 
father  before  him  —  but  the  Creightons  were  what 
they  are  now  when  a  Petre  twanged  a  bow-string." 

Mr.  Hyde  felt  that  his  friend  from  Dorset  was 
here  encroaching  on  his  own  particular  field. 

"  They've  been  gentlemen  since  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury," he  said ;  "  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  if  I  were 
in  the  running  for  a  certain  lady's  hand,  I'd  not  let 
a  little  matter  of  family  pride  turn  me  from  the 
contest." 

His  tone  was  very  dry  —  though,  Heaven  knows, 
his  throat  was  wet  enough.  Being  of  a  flighty 
nature,  he  was  already  tiring  of  the  abortive  duel 
and  everything  connected  with  it. 

Creighton  stared  at  him  hotly,  but  with  a  touch  of 
uneasiness.  He  never  felt  quite  sure  of  this  bland 
townsman. 

"  Could  it  be  managed,  and  a  gentleman  still  keep 
his  honour  clean  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Hyde  laughed  softly  and  leaned  back  in  his 
seat. 


The  Day  After 


189 


"  I'll  tell  you  this  much,  sir,"  he  repliec^  "  If  you 
call  Sir  Charles  to  account  and  Captain  Love  calls 
Sir  John,  I'll  engage  the  lady  —  and  she,  no  doubt, 
is  the  most  dangerous  of  the  trio." 


HU 


:'\^  \-i: 


1 1  ':.   1 ; 


.  *, 


i'- 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    captain's    TEMPTATION 

News  of  the  absurd  termination  of  the  affair  be- 
tween Captain  Love  and  Mr.  Creighton  went  'round 
the  town  on  every  wind.  Mr.  Merton,  that  other 
Dorset  squire  who  had  followed  Dorothy  Petre  to 
town,  was  in  high  feather  over  the  matter.  Here 
were  both  the  rivals  in  a  very  laughable  situation 
from  the  world's  point  of  view,  and  (from  what 
he  heard)  both  desiring  the  blood  of  Sir  John 
Petre  in  return  for  the  indignity  they  had  suffered. 
Though  dull  of  wit,  he  was  shrewd  enough  to 
realize  that  now  was  the  time  for  him  to  winnow 
his  own  grain  from  the  chaff  of  his  rivals'  misfor- 
tunes. So,  attired  in  his  best  coat  and  wig,  with  a 
new  small-£word  at  his  hip,  he  called  on  Mrs.  Pad- 
dington  and  Dorothy.  Upon  finding  them  both  at 
home  and  in  a  flutter  of  excitement,  he  rubbed  his 
great  hands  together  and  loosed  his  tongue. 

"  'Twas   the    most    ridiculous   affair,"    he    said. 
"  Here  were  our  valiant  fighting  men,  each  in  his 

190 


The  Captain's  Temptation  191 


carriage,  each  with  his  distinguished  friend  beside 
him,  rolling  courageously  to  the  scene  of  action. 
Mr.  Hyde,  ye'll  understand,  was  sittin'  innocent  as 
a  lamb,  beside  the  captain,  with  Lord  Playfair's 
rules  of  duelling  in  his  pocket  an'  a  box  of  pistols 
in  his  lap.  In  t'other  coach  Creighton  was  countin' 
the  men  he'd  shot,  on  his  fingers,  and  Charles  Dart 
was  grinnin'  to  himself.  Well,  presently  the  cap- 
tain's coach  drew  up,  the  doors  flew  open  an'  in 
popped  the  masked  highwaymen.  The  captain  was 
caught  like  a  m-use  in  a  combag,  but  Hyde  kicked 
one  of  the  kidnappers  in  the  middle  afore  he  was 
tied  secuiely.  In  t'other  carriage,  when  the  doors 
were  pulled  open,  Sir  Charles  gives  a  yell  of  '  Foot- 
pads, by  God.'  and  then,  bawlin'  all  the  time  that 
he's  fightin'  like  a  hero,  helps  them  put  the  rcpes 
around  Mr.  Creighton." 

"  A  most  dishonourable  affair."  said  Mrs.  Pad- 
dington.  "  For  my  part.  I  feel  that  it  would  have 
been  better  to  let  the  gentlemen  shoot  at  one  another. 
The  late  Mr.  Paddington.  I  am  sure,  would  never 
have  countenanced  such  proceedings." 

For  a  moment  Merton  was  confused  by  this  un- 
expected protest.  He  looked,  in  confusion,  at  the 
widow's  flushed  face. 

"  But,  my  dear  madam,"  he  cried,  "  it  was  a  mat- 


^  I 


! 


SSMBBh 


192 


Captain  Love 


*-,-il  .-; 


ter  of  duty,  I  do  assure  you.  I'd  have  done  the  same 
myself,  to  protect  the  innocent  name  of  a  lady  of 
my  family." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Paddington,  "  three 
duels  were  fought  over  me,  and  I  was  none  the 
worse  — and  neither  were  the  gentlemen,  for  that 
matter." 

Mr.  Merion  turned  his  gaze  upon  Dorothy.  That 
young  lady  was  seated  with  bent  h  ad  and  flushed 
cheeks,  the  picture  of  girlish  embar;  assment.  Sud- 
denly she  raised  her  eyes  shyly  to  her  admirer's. 

"  Why  did  the  gentlemen  wish  to  quarrel  ?  "  she 
asked,  and  again  averted  her  face. 

"  Ah,"  replied  Merton,  with  a  bow,  "  you  must 
ask  your  mirror  that  question." 

"Fie,  sir!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paddington.  "Do 
you  mean  to  turn  the  child's  head  ?  " 

Poor  Merton  looked  sincerely  disconcerted  at 
that,  and  blushed  as  vividly  as  did  Dorothy  herself. 
Lord,  thought  the  simple  fellow,  if  I  could  but 
turn  both  her  heart  and  her  head.  He  looked  ap- 
pealingly  at  the  widow  and  blundered  along  with 
his  story. 

"  The  three  men  of  blood,"  he  continued,  "  were 
kept  in  the  one  cottage  all  day,  each  in  a  separate 
room.    They  gave  up  their  watches  and  their  money 


.zrisi-i^'  ,5s>«p- 


<»««=  ■■■itvzy»^''>^::fsewwms»ssiian^emmminii 


The  Captain's  Temptation  193 

—  which,  of  course,  were  returned  to  them  —  with- 
out a  word.  They  were  terrified,  I  assure  you  — 
especially  the  captain  and  Mr.  Creighton  —  but  they 
managed  to  eat  and  drink,  an'  all  the  while  as  blind 
as  puppies." 

Mr.  Merton  was  not  as  wise  as  he  considered  him- 
self; but,  after  all,  who  is.  He  fairly  disgusted 
Mrs.  Paddington  with  his  story  and  his  satisfaction 
in  it,  and  she  felt  both  ashamed  and  angry  that  her 
brother  should  have  resorted  to  so  mean  a  method 
of  stopping  the  aflFair.  "  The  whole  world  knows," 
she  argued  with  herself,  "  that  men  are  fools  about 
pretty  faces  and  that  the  most  honourable  women 
may.  all  unwittingly,  be  the  cause  of  the  most 
desperate  encounters"  —  this  with  a  complacent 
memory  of  the  havoc  she  herself  had  once  wrought 
in  the  hearts  and  pistol-boxes  of  the  late  Reginald 
Paddington  and  his  friends. 

As  for  Mistress  Dorothy,  —  why,  the  longer  she 
gave  ear  to  the  crowing  of  Mr.  Merton,  the  more 
her  little  heart  inclined  to  the  romantic  and  unfor- 
tunate Captain  Love ;  and,  in  a  lesser  degree,  to  the 
solemn  Mr.  Creighton.  Whole  stanzas  of  the  cap- 
tain's verses  recurred  to  her  mind;  and  again  she 
saw  his  face  and  heard  his  voice  as  on  that  Christ- 
mas morning  when  he  had  givv    '^er  the  book.    But 


1 


4 


■  -^r+V*. 


/ 1 


[ 


» \. 


194 


Captain  Love 


with  a  caution  ,.  c.  one  would  not  have  expected  of 
her,  she  showed  nothing  of  her  feelings  to  Mr. 
Merton. 

No  sooner  was  Merton  out  of  the  house  than 
Dorotiiy  went  to  her  own  room,  locked  the  door, 
and  sat  down  with  pen  and  paper.  Her  scholastic 
attainments  were  of  the  mildest  type,  as  befitted  a 
lady  of  quality  of  those  good  old  days.  The  very 
sight  of  the  ink  and  white  paper  struck  discomfort 
to  her  heart;  and  the  knowledge  that  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  she  was  about  to  write  was  a  poet 
of  distinction  did  not  serve  to  put  her  any  more 
at  her  ease.  But  at  last  a  few  lines  were  accom- 
plished and  the  paper  folded  and  sealed. 

Captain  Love  was  sitting  by  his  fire,  sunk  in 
pensive  meditation,  when  old  Tom  hobbled  in  with 
Mistress  Dorothy's  note.  The  first  reading  left  him 
blank ;  the  second,  impatient ;  but  soon,  as  he  gazed 
at  the  childish  signature,  remorse  struck  at  his  sus- 
ceptible heart.  He  thrust  the  sheet  into  the  ire, 
watched  it  blacken  and  glare,  and  then  set  about 
the  preparing  of  his  person  for  the  street.  All  the 
while  he  was  arraying  himself  in  his  fine  attire,  he 
nervously  planned  his  course  of  action. 

"  T  must  remember  the  indignity  to  which  I  have 
been  put  by  the  head  of  her  family,"  he  murmured. 


11 


The  Captain's  Temptation  195 


"  1  must  keep  cool  for  both  our  sakes.    She  is  beau- 
tiful,—  but  I  must  remember  my  word  to  John." 

He  remembered  also  the  flavour  of  that  imma- 
terial dream.  He  looked  at  himself  with  impersonal 
eyes  but  personal  knowledge,  and  groaned  at  what 
he  saw.  That,  after  all,  the  end  of  his  quest  lay 
not  in  London,  he  felt  convinced ;  and  a  disturbing 
realization  that  his  heart,  as  well  as  his  name  and 
degree,  lay  somewhere  back  of  his  broken  memory, 
was  strong  in  him. 

"  My  God !  "  he  said,  "  was  ever  a  man  left  more 
naked  to  the  mercies  of  the  world  ?  " 

And  now,  fully  attired,  the  captain  awoke  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  full  five  hours  too  early  for  the 
appointment. 

So  he  walked  the  streets,  looked  in  at  several 
shops,  and  at  last  entered  a  quiet  inn  not  far  from 
the  Petre  house  and  called  for  a  stoup  of  canary. 
Mine  host  knew  the  captain  well  by  both  sight  and 
reputation,  and  so  allowed  himself  the  honour  of 
serving  him  with  his  own  hands.  The  captain  acted 
very  graciously;  invited  the  good  innkeeper  to 
drink  with  him.  and  told  several  capital  stories. 
But  he  looked  frequently  at  his  watch ;  and  shortly 
after  the  falling  of  dusk  he  srttled  his  hat  on  his 
wig,  paid  the  score,  and  stepped  into  the  street. 


196 


Captain  Love 


"A  rare,  fine  gentleman,"  said  the  innkeeper, 
"an'  sociable  as  a  play-actor.  John."  he  added, 
to  an  assistant,  "  don't  forget  to  tell  every  gentle- 
man v'ho  comes  here  that  the  great  Captain  Love  is 
one  of  our  steady  customers." 

The  captain  arrived  at  the  door  of  Sir  John's 
house  sharp  on  the  appointed  minute.  The  street 
was  empty.  He  stepped  into  the  vestibule,  paused 
for  a  second  to  question  his  heart,  and  then  laid  a 
hand  against  the  door.  The  heavy  structure  of  iron 
and  oak  moved  at  the  touch,  like  a  thing  of  human 
wit.  In  a  trice  the  gentleman  was  within,  the  way 
closed  behind  him,  and  some  one  breathing  quickly 
beside  him  in  the  dusk  of  the  hall.  He  felt  the 
brushing  of  light  fingers  on  his  arm. 

"  Was  it  not  brave  of  me  to  bid  you  come  ?  " 
whispered  the  voice  of  Doro.hy.  The  captain,  feel- 
ing that  the  bravery  was  his  in  coming  like  a  thief 
in  the  night,  could  not  fit  his  tongue  to  ?  reply. 
So  he  put  his  left  hand  across  his  bo<ly  and  gently 
clasped  those  fingers  resting  on  his  right  arm. 

So  they  continued  for  a  few  seconds  in  what  was 
surely  a  very  romantic  situation;  then  the  lady 
withdrew  her  hand. 

"You  think  me  bold  —  unmaidenly  ? "  she 
sighed. 


The  Captain's  Temptation  197 


The  captain  denied  tlie  charge.  No  gentleman 
could  do  less  —  and  the  captain  was  young  and  a 
poet.  Already  half  the  sage  advice  he  had  given 
liimself  in  his  rooms  was  forgotten. 

"  I  want  you  to  forgive  my  brother,"  whispered 
Dorothy. 

Under  the  ciraimstances,  that  did  not  seem  hard 
to  do. 

"  I  am  your  humble  servant,"  he  murmured. 

Again  he  felt  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Again  he 
captured  it ;  and  at  that  moment  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Paddington  was  heard,  calling  her  sister.  He  felt 
the  girl's  slim  body  very  close  to  his  side, —  the 
personification  of  beauty  and  youth  touching  hJM 
softly  on  elbow  and  shoulder.  In  a  second  he  had 
drawn  her  to  him  and  kissed  those  incomparable 
lips  —  and  in  another  second  he  had  opened  the 
great  door  and  stepped  into  the  night. 

For  an  hour.  Captain  T.ove  paced  the  dark  streets 
in  a  fever  of  remorse.  He  called  himself  many  h:ird 
names. —  false  friend  and  wolf-in-the-fold  amorvT 
them.  —  for.  after  all.  he  was  but  an  infant  in  the 
world's  ways,  reckoning  from  the  date  of  his  sec- 
ond birth  at  Nullwood  Lower  Farm.  He  called  him- 
self a  weakling  and  a  knave.     He  had  played  his 


198 


Captain  Love 


friend  false,  —  but,  still  worse,  he  had  been  false 
to  his  dream ! 

Supperless,  he  '  ;  ned  his  Mops  to  Babcock's,  and 
there  strove  to  f(  tify  his  ui  jermined  self-respect 
with  wine.  Ac  las  ho  werr  ir^-stairs,  determined  to 
find  distraction  in  play.  The  place  was  crowded 
with  gentlemen  but  just  arrived. 

Among  them  was  Lord  Buckley,  red  of  face  and 
glassy  of  eye.     He  espied  the  captain  immediately. 

"  Make  way,"  he  roared.  "  The  fighter  of  blood- 
less battles  — the  kidnapped  hero  — is  upon  us." 

The  earl  had  drunk  deep  at  supper.  Now  he  gave 
himself  up  to  loud  and  jeering  mirth,  not  noticing 
that  his  pleasantry  had  been  received  in  silence  by 
the  company.  Presently  his  breath  was  spent.  The 
sudden  silence  smote  his  ear  like  a  slap  from  an 
open  hand.  His  gaze  went  from  one  unresponsive 
face  to  another ;  and  the  false  courage  of  his  recent 
potations  evaporated  from  his  heart. 

"  Is  your  lordship  pleased  to  refer  to  me?"  in- 
quired the  captain,  unsteadily.  His  brow  and  cheeks 
were  as  flushed  as  the  earl's,  and  his  limbs  trembled. 
Was  the  emotion  under  which  he  struggled  that  of 
fear  or  indignation  ?  Wiser  men  than  Lord  Buck- 
ley have  mistaken  the  one  for  the  other.  The  earl's 
mirthful  arrogance  returned  to  him.    He  had  for- 


The  Captain's  Temptation  199 


gotten  the  outcome  of  his  former  argument  with  the 
captain. 

"  I'll  send  for  Sir  John  Petre  an'  his  coach,  if 
ye  put  on  any  of  your  airs,"  he  cried. 

The  captain  stepped  forward,  raised  a  daintily 
gloved  hand  and  caught  the  earl  by  the  nose. 
Thumb  and  finger  pinched  like  iron ;  but  only  for 
a  second.  Then  the  captain  was  pulled  back  with 
such  violence  that  his  hold  on  that  most  crimson 
point  of  the  earl's  crimson  countenance  gave  way 
with  an  excruciatingly  painful  slip  and  twist.  The 
nobleman  roared  like  a  bull,  and  snatched  his  sword 
clear  of  its  scabbard.  In  a  moment  he  was  over- 
powered by  half  a  dozen  gentlcnen  and  forced, 
weaponles''-.  into  a  chair, 

"  I  warned  you  that  I'd  pull  your  nose  for  you," 
said  Love. 


n 


IV 


m ' 


I'  iV 


CHAPTER   XIX 


PARSON    LOVE 


For  more  than  forty  years  had  the  Reverend 
John  Love,  M.  A.,  looked  after  the  spiritual  condi- 
tions of  the  people  of  Dodwater,  in  B — shire.  Two 
squires  had  found  him  a  pillar  of  strength,  each 
in  his  turn  seeking  the  parson's  advice  on  all  mat- 
ters. Two  generations  of  fox-hunters  had  seen  the 
parson's  black  coat  in  the  front  of  the  field.  But 
a  few  old  men  would  sometimes  tell  of  a  plague  of 
sickness  that  swept  through  Dodwater;  of  the  death 
of  the  parson'"  young  wife,  who  was  the  old  squire' 
daughter ;  and  of  two  years  when  there  was  no  fox- 
hunting in  Dodwater. 

Young  John  Love  had  been  trained  until  his  sev- 
enteenth year  by  the  parson  and  David  Frunk. 
Then  he  had  ridden  away,  with  an  ensign's  commis- 
sion in  his  pocket,  to  return  occasionally  —  some- 
times after  five  years,  sometimes  after  three  —  to 
tell  stories  of  half  the  kingdoms  of  Europe. 

One  January  morning  the  parson  called  David 
Frunk  into  his  study. 

200 


■f  ■^•Jii>.  "V  ."^.iA. 


Parson  Love  201 

"  I'll  be  setting  out  for  London  to-morrow,"  he 
said. 

"I^r-.  sir."  cried  David,  "ye've  not  been 
a-hearin'  of  bad  news  from  Master  Jack," 

The  parson  stepped  over  to  the  hearth  and 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  long  pipe  into  the  fire. 

"  Ye'll  remember,  David,"  he  said,  "  the  letter  I 
got  from  the  captain  in  August  ?  " 

"Ay,  sure  I  remembers,"  replied  old  David. 
"  Master  Jack  —  the  capting  —  were  wisitin'  among 
the  gentry  in  Northumberland  an'  were  a-goin'  up 
to  London  with  one  o'  his  friends  lO  ax  the  queen 
to  give  he  a  easier  job  at  sojerin'  nor  what  he's  bin 
havin'.  An'  then  he  were  a-comin'  home  for  Cris- 
mus." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  parson.  He  filled  his  pipe  with 
tobacco  from  a  jar  on  the  table  and  lit  it  with  a 
coal  from  the  fire.  When  the  ^moke  was  rolling 
about  him.  he  turned  again  to  his  faithful  servant. 

"  Well,"  he  said.  "  that  is  the  last  I've  heard 
from  him  —  and  he  didn't  come  home  for  Christ- 
mas." 

"  He  were  never  much  on  the  writin',"  murmured 
David  Frunk. 

^^  "  Ay.  he  was  no  quill-driver,"  replied  the  parson. 
"  but  he  stood  always  to  his  ward.     Neither  heat 


'fi- .  mMiw/.  I  mi'u 


202 


Captain  Love 


f 


nor  cold,  hard  roads  nor  soft,  would  turn  him  from 
a  journey  he'd  set  himself  to." 

"  Ay,  ye  couldn't  turn  him  with  a  axe,  once  he'd 
got  his  head  sot,"  cried  old  David.  "  He'll  get  what 
he  wants  in  Lunnon  Town,  I  vum,  though  the  queen 
herself  tells  him  no." 

**  He  was  always  a  good  son,"  said  the  parson ; 
"  and  if  he  was  a  trifle  headstrong,  he  was  not  reck- 
less. I  can't  think,  for  the  life  of  me,  what's  keep- 
ing him." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  David,  "  for  all  he  wam't 
much  to  look  at  (not  takin'  arter  his  blessed 
mother),  an'  a  trifle  too  short  i'  the  shanks  to  be 
shapely,  I'm  thinkin'  he  had  a  way  with  him  what 
took  the  women.  Maybe  th'  queen  took  a  fancy  to 
im,  sir. 

The  parson  looked  at  his  servant. 

"  David,"  said  he,  "  you  take  a  liberty  in  speak- 
ing so  of  her  Majesty,  —  to  say  nothing  of  your 
master  and  the  captain." 

"  Sir,"  cried  Frunk,  "  I'm  the  last  person  to 
knowingly  take  a  liberty  with  me  betters.  An'  now 
I'll  be  off  to  cobble  me  boots  an'  clean  me  blunaer- 
bust  an'  borrow  an  extry  saddle  from  squire." 

"  David,  my  good  old  friend,  I  intend  riding  to 
London  alone,"  said  the  parson,  falteringly. 


I»»--J.u?!' ■<  ■  i-  ■«;&» 


Parson  Love 


203 


The  old  servant  shook  h's  head  and  chuckled. 

"Beggin'  your  pardin',  sir,"  said  he,  "but  we 
both  goes  or  we  both  stays.  What  would  ye  be 
a-doin'  in  Lunnon  without  your  David,  I'd  like  to 
know." 

At  an  early  hour  of  the  morning  following  the 
night  of  trouble  at  Babcock's,  the  Reverend  John 
Love,  M.  A.,  and  David  Frunk  arrived  in  London. 
They  had  made  the  journey  in  safety  and  compara- 
tive comfort,  David's  blunderbuss  assuring  them 
freedom  from  footpads  during  the  day,  and  the 
parson's  gold  procuring  them  the  best  of  fare  and 
bed  every  night. 

As  they  had  breakfasted  at  the  little  hostel  a  few 
miles  from  the  edge  of  the  vn,  where  they  had 
spent  the  night,  they  now  rode  well  towards  the 
heart  of  things  before  thinking  of  a  halt.  They 
were  mightily  taken  up  with  the  scenes  of  life  about 
them ;  and  for  a  little  while  the  good  old  parson 
forgot  his  anxiety.  For  a  long  time  they  walked 
their  horses  slowly,  each  staring  to  right  and  left 
in  childish  wonder  and  delight.  David  could  not 
understand  what  the  queen  was  about  to  allow  such 
a  rumpus. 

"Ye  an'  squire  wouldn't  allow  it  up  to  Dod- 
water,"  he  remarked. 


SR2P 


204 


Captain  Love 


But  the  parson  was  too  intent  on  his  novel  sur- 
roundings to  hear. 

"Demme,"  exclaimed  David,  after  a  short  si- 
lence, "if  I  didn't  spy  a  fellow  with  his  hand  in 
that  old  gentleman's  pocket  Blast  me,  but  we 
wouldn't  allow  that  up  to  Dodwater." 

"  I  fear  nie  'tis  an  evil  place,"  replied  Parson 
Love.  "  An  evil  place,  —  and  yet  how  stirring,  — 
how  full  of  action !  " 

"Ay,  action  enough  an'  to  spare,"  muttered 
David.  "  An'  I  do  hope  Master  Jack  have  kep'  his 
pockets  buttoned  tight,"  he  added,  in  a  still  lower 
voice. 

"  Well,"  said  the  parson  presently,  "  we  might 
ride  the  streets  all  day  through  this  multitude  of 
people,  and  not  find  the  one  we  seek,"  and  at  that 
moment  his  glance  caught  the  glance  of  a  stout  man 
in  an  apron  standing  in  a  doorway  under  a  sign- 
board, at  his  left  hand  an  arch  leading  into  a  busy 
courtyard. 

The  innkeeper  bowed  respectfully.  The  par- 
son drew  rein.  The  innkeeper  stepped  to  his  stir- 
rup. 

"  I  keep  an  honest  house,  sir,"  said  he,  "  patron- 
ized by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Church,  the  nobility 
and   gentry.     Bright    rooms,   sir;    honest   English 


i      i  I 


Parson  Love  205 

fare;  home-brewed  —  and  wines  — why,  sir,  only 
last  night  I  was  compHmented  on  my  wine  by  Cap- 
tain Love." 

"Ho,  ho!"  exclaimed  David  Frunk,  who  was 
listening  with  both  ears.  But  the  parson  asked  very 
quietly  who  was  Captain  Love,  though  hi.,  honest 
face  showed  his  emotions  to  the  kindly  eye  of  the 
innkeeper. 

"  Who  is  Captain  Love?  "  was  the  reply.  "  Why, 
sir,  he  is  the  finest  gentleman  in  London.  Count- 
esses, I  hear  tell,  die  for  the  love  of  him.  an'  liter- 
ary gentlemen  want  to  stab  him  with  their  quills 
because  his  rhymes  be  better  than  theirs." 

At  this  news  something  of  the  light  of  hope  faded 
from  the  parson's  face.    It  seemed  to  him  rather  late 
in  life  for  his  son  to  display  a  talent  for  versifica- 
tion.   On  the  other  hand,  he  recalled  a  time  when 
he  himself  had  written  rhymes;    might  not  Jack, 
too,  have  fallen  in  love  and  recorded  the  pains  and 
joys  of  it  in  poetry?    And  if  Jack  once  set  his  hand 
to  the  making  of  verses,  they  would  be  good  verses. 
Whatever  he  did  was  done  with  his  whole  heart. 
Five  minutes  later  the  parson  and  the  innkeeper 
were  seated  over  a  flask  of  canary. 

"  Is  this  gentleman  of  whom  you  speak  a  native 
of  London  ?  "  inquired  the  cleric. 


Iff 


! 


in  i 


M 


Hi. 


V  ,,> 


206 


Captain  Love 


"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  host.  "  He's  been  in  town 
but  a  matter  of  months.  He's  a  great  soldier,  I've 
heard,  and  has  fought  in  all  manner  of  outlandish 
parts." 

"  His  name?  "  whispered  tlie  parson. 

The  innkeeper  scratched  his  head. 

"His  name?"  he  murmured.  "The  name  of 
Captain  Love?  Dang  me,  but  it's  slipped  my  nod- 
dle. Something  short  it  be,  that  I  know  well 
enough.    Would  it  be  Dick,  now  —  Dick  Love?  " 

"  Or  Jack?  "  queried  the  parson,  breathlessly. 

"  Ay,  or  Jack."  replied  the  other.  "  Jack  Love? 
Dick  Love?  Captain  Jack?  Captain  Dick?  Dang 
me,  but  I  believe  'tis  Jack,  after  all." 

The  old  gentleman  leaned  across  the  table  and 
grasped  the  astonished  innkeeper  by  the  hand. 

"  He's  my  son,  —  my  only  son,"  he  cried.  "  Ah, 
my  friend,  ye've  done  a  kindly  deed  this  day.  Now 
tell  me  where  he  lives.  Send  one  of  your  fellows 
to  guide  me  to  him." 

A  certain  Major  Scott  was  engaged  in  making 
explanations  to  Captain  Love,  on  behalf  of  Lord 
Buckley  (who  had  meant  nothing  amiss,  I  assure 
you,  sir.  and  is  one  of  the  most  good-natured  noble- 
men in  England),  when  old  Tom,  eager  to  get  back 


Parson  Love 


207 


to  the  kitchen  to  ask  questions  of  David  Frunk, 
ushered  the  vicar  of  Dodvvater  into  the  roon  and 
closed  the  door  on  his  heels.  The  parson  bowed 
low  to  the  gentlemen  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind,"  said  he,  "  as  to  tell  me 
if  Captain  Love  is  at  home?" 

"  At  your  service,  sir,"  replied  the  captain,  bow- 
ing. 

The  parsc«i  stared. 

"  I  am  Captain  Love,"  said  the  ijoet. 

The  old  man  swayed  and  his  ruddy  face  went 
white.  Both  gentlemen  sprang  forward  to  assist 
him;  but  he  steadied  himself  against  the  back  of 
a  chair. 

"^  You,"  he  cried.    "  Nay.  you  are  not  my  son." 

"Your  son,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  faintly. 
Consternation  chilled  him  until  he  was  as  pale  and 
shaken  as  his  visitor. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  whispered. 

"  If  you  have  a  heart,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  tell 
me  of  my  son.  Tell  me  of  my  only  son,  the'brave 
soldier  who  set  out  for  London  six  months  ago, 
with  a  fine  friend  from  the  north." 

A  light  flashed  on  the  young  man's  brain  and  a 
weight  of  dread  and  pity  sank  to  his  heart. 


I.. ''» ./.c\-.'. 


'iu' 


ifJl 


»'(• 


208 


Captain  Love 


"  What  can  I  tell  you  ?  "  he  cried.  "  My  God, 
what  can  I  tell  you  ?  " 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  closed. 
Major  Scott  had  departed,  unnoticed  by  the  others, 
to  carry  an  amazing  story  to  his  patron  the  earl. 


%i 


u 


II 


If 


^t':^?WSSElKH^»!!3»M^l^'^ 


CHAPTER   XX 

DISCLOSURES 

The  Reverend  John  Love  caught  the  young  gen- 
tleman by  the  shoulders  and  glared  intj  his  face. 

'•  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  asked,  with 
a  ring  of  menace  in  his  voice.  "  How  dare  you  tell 
me,  sir,  that  you  are  Captain  Love  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  the  oiher,  "  if  I  have  lied 
to  you,  —  if  I  have  harmed  you,  —  I  have  done  so 
in  utter  blindness.  Calm  yourself,  I  pray,  and  listen 
to  me  with  the  charity  of  a  priest  of  God,  and  not 
the  just  anger  of  a  father." 

At  that  the  parson  sank  weakly  into  the  chair 
against  which  he  had  been  leaning.  The  distress 
in  the  other's  voice  had  cleared  his  heart  of  anger 
and  left  it  open  to  the  blackest  forebodings. 
"  Tell  me  the  worst."  he  murmured. 
For  a  moment  the  captain  hesitated,  bending 
above  his  visitor  with  a  stricken  face.  Then  he 
drew  a  ring  from  his  finger  and  thrust  it  into  the 
other's  hand ;  but  his  tongue  failed  him.    The  par- 

209 


k>  i 


ll'f    \ 


i?^ 


i 


I 
'fi 


210 


Captain  Love 


son  looked  lonj,'  at  the  ring,  turning  it  between  his 
fingers. 

"  Yes."  he  said,  wearily,  "  it  is  my  son's  ring. 
I  gave  it  to  him  myself  on  his  sixteenth  birthday. 
See  the  dint  here,  where  the  hilt  of  a  Spanish  sabre 
struck  it  ten  years  ago." 

And  suddenly,  even  while  he  spoke,  tears  sprang 
out  upon  the  brave  old  face. 

The  sight  of  that  paternal  grief  shocked  the  cap- 
tain beyond  words,  assaulting  his  heart  with  phys- 
ical pain.    He  'ell  on  his  knees  before  the  olr-      an, 
and.  in  broken  sentences,  told  the  story  of  his  .   t  /  r 
since  his  recovery  at  Nulhvood  Lower  Farm,  and 
of  all  he  had  heard  from  the  farmer's  daughter. 
Then  he  bowed  his  face  on  his  h^nds.  his  hands 
resting  on  the  arm  v>f  the  chair.     For  a  long  time 
he  knelt  thus,  all  his  own  affairs  forgotten,  listen- 
ing to  the  half-stifled  sobs  of  the  old  clergyman. 
At  last  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  head. 

"  You  were  Jack's  friend."  said  the  gentle  voice. 
"Now  — that  Jack  is  gone  from  us  — you  must 
be  a  good  friend  to  me." 

Half  an  hour  later  David  Frunk  was  sent  for. 
He  looked  distrustfully  at  the  captain  when  he  heard 
the  story ;  for  his  mind,  being  that  of  a  peasant, 
worked  slowly. 


:oi  i' 


Disclosures 


211 


"  Old  man,"  said  the  captain,  reading  the  other's 
glance,  "  you  doubt  my  story  now ;  but,  before  a 
week  is  passed,  you  will  believe  it.  In  the  mean- 
time, bear  with  me  in  charity,  as  your  master 
does." 

David  had  nothing  to  say  to  that ;  but  the  parson 
took  the  young  man's  hand  in  his. 

"  Lad,"  said  he,  "  I  trust  you  as  one  of  my  own 
blood.  Did  not  the  same  hands  that  shattered  my 
dreams  of  the  future  deprive  you  utterly  of  the  past. 
As  I  have  lost  the  son,  so  have  you  lost  your  parents 
and  the  friends  of  your  youth.  Your  reunion  of 
love  will  soon  be  accomplished  —  and  mine  in  a  few 
years'  time,  by  the  mercy  of  God." 

David  Frunk  returned  to  the  company  of  the 
captain's  servants,  fully  convinced  that,  whatever 
his  private  feelings,  he  must  display  an  unmoved 
countenance.  Twice,  on  his  way  down-stairs,  he 
had  to  pause  and  bru"h  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  So 
Master  Jack  had  been  killed  by  highwaymen,  and 
here  was  a  young  fellow  calling  himself  the  captain, 
and  living  like  a  lord,  and  telling  a  story  that  surely 
no  full-grown  man  but  the  parson  would  believe  for 
a  minute. 

"  It  beats  me.  it  do,"  he  muttered,  "  an*  what's 
to  happen  nex',  I'm  danged  if  I  knows." 


( 


1 1      'I       II 


It 


-i' 


! 


1  ]'*:*■ 


i\. 


m 


212 


Captain  Love 


In  the  kitchen  he  was  greeted  impatiently  by  the 
inquisitive  Tom. 

"  How  d'ye  find  the  capting?  "  he  asked. 

"Well  enough,  well  enough,"  replied  David, 
"  though  I'd  like  to  see  'im  a  trifle  shorter  an'  a  trifle 
broader." 

Tom  and  his  old  wife  and  the  young  footman 
stared  at  the  stranger  in  perplexity.  At  last  the 
old  woman  said:  "Well,  for  my  part,  Master 
Frunk,  I  think  the  capting  do  have  a  most  elegant 
figger." 

"  Ay,  maybe  yer  right,  ma'm,"  said  David,  list- 
lessly. 

The  gentlemen  up-stairs  opened  their  hearts  to 
each  other.  The  parson  told  what  he  knew  of  his 
son's  friends  in  the  north,  and  promised  to  help  the 
captain  in  the  quest  of  his  name  and  people.  He 
told  of  the  real  captain's  childhood,  —  little  homely 
incidents  glorified  by  the  love  through  which  they 
were  remembered,  —  and  of  his  courage  and  hon- 
esty; and.  as  the  young  man  listened,  his  heart  re- 
called the  old  love  for  his  friend,  though  his  brain 
was  still  bafi^ed. 

London  held  no  interest  now  for  Parson  Love. 
He  was  anxious  to  take  saddle  again  and  distract 
his  heart  with  the  perils  and  discomforts  of  the 


^  ■^t;i.'^myi'twm'^^TmBki''^'^<^'if  ^ 


Disclosures  213 

road.  He  wanted  to  see  Farmer  Holt;  and  then 
to  ride  to  Northumberland  and  see  his  new  friend, 
his  poor  son's  intimate,  restored  to  his  birthrights' 
His  wounded  heart  leaned  to  the  unfortunate  young 
man.  He  had  a  deep  knowledge  of  faces,  and  read 
courage  and  loyalty  and  tenderness  in  the  eyes  and 
features  of  his  host.  A  hundred  ties  seemed  to  bind 
him  to  this  youth  whom  he  had  never  seen  before 
whose  name  he  did  not  know,  and  with  every  min- 
ute the  ties  strengthened. 

On  the  captain's  part,  the  friendship  was  as  quick 
and  as  sincere.  He  felt  immeasurably  grateful  to 
the  old  gentleman  for  his  insight  and  forgiveness. 
He  loved  him  for  his  trust.  Pity  and  loneliness 
drew  him  to  that  fatherly  and  sympathetic  heart. 
The  stricken  but  gallant  old  priest  seemed  to  him 
Hope  personified,  —  a  clue  to  the  lost  past.  — a 
hold  upon  those  dear,  dead  days,  the  sweetness  of 
which  sometimes  touched  his  dreams. 

The  parson  was  for  taking  the  road  on  the  mor- 
row; but  the  captain  (we  must  continue  to  call  him 
so  for  a  little)  begged  him  to  wait  a  few  days.  He 
had  aflFairs  to  settle,  a  few  friends  to  bid  farewell 
to,  and  servants  to  dismiss.  He  was  still  in  doubt 
of  the  settlement  of  the  Buckley  matter,  that  noble- 
man's friend  having  departed  in  the  middle  of  ex- 


214 


Captain  Love 


I 


planations.  He  had  a  number  of  bills  to  pay  and 
two  extra  horses,  a  fine  carriage,  and  a  sedan-chair 
to  dispose  of.  So  the  parson  agreed  to  await  the 
captain's  convenience  in  the  matter,  and  David 
Frunk  and  the  young  footmen  were  sent  to  the  inn 
to  bring  around  the  parson's  horses  and  saddle-bags. 
The  captain  went  about  his  business  sanely 
enough  in  the  afternoon,  paying  his  bills  and  ar- 
ranging for  the  sale  of  such  of  his  possessions  as 
he  had  decided  to  part  with.  But  his  heart  all  the 
while  was  in  a  tumult  of  conflicting  emotions.  Now 
it  suffered  consternation  that  the  name  he  had  car- 
ried so  gallantly  —  ay,  and  even  the  military  title 
of  captain  — had  been  proved,  of  a  surety,  to  no 
more  belong  to  him  than  to  any  of  his  s-rvants. 
He  could  think  of  himself  as  nothing  but  Captain 
Love ;  and  though  he  had  never  fully  believed  that 
chance  had  given  him  his  true  name  out  of  the  shat- 
tered past,  the  proof  of  the  mistake  struck  him  like 
a  disinheritance.  Then  pity  for  his  lost  and  unre- 
mep-'  friend,  and  rage  at  the  thought  of  his 

cru€  ..1,  took  hold  of  him.     Pity  for  the  good 

clerc,  ..a  depressed  him.  Shame  ran  over  him 
like  a  wave  of  heat  at  the  recollection  of  the  scene 
with  Dorothy,  —  of  his  broken  faith  with  Sir  John 
Petre.     And  now  a  wonderful  joy  possessed  him, 


Disclosures 
and,  in  broad  daylight,  he  felt 


215 


-    „    .         ^mething  of  that 

enchantment  that  had  previously  come  to  him  only 
in  his  dreams.    In  Northumberland  his  past  awaited 
him.    What  a  great  adventure  was  this,  —  to  mount 
a  horse  and  ride  from  the  misfitted  present,  with  its 
shame  and  cares  and  loneliness,  back  to  the  for- 
gotten life,  to  childhood  friends,  to  his  own  name 
and  h.s  own  people.     And  what  the  awaited  him 
there?    Could  it  be  that  somewhere  in  the  old  life 
dwelt  the  inspiration  of  his  dream?     Could  it  be 
that  the  cloud  lifted  from  his  mind  during  his  sleep? 
—  that  the  disquieting  sweetness  that  clung  to  him 
on  waking  from  that  furtive  dream  was  the  half- 
memory  of  a  memory?    And  if  a  dream  could  stir 
a  man  like  that,  what  of  the  living  inspiration  of 
It?    If  a  half-memory,  what  of  the  Being  remem- 
bered ? 

While  passing  the  door  of  a  tavern,  the  captain 
was  accosted  by  Mr.  Creighton.  The  gentleman 
from  Dorset  was  decidedly  the  worse  for  his  liquor 
and  enjoyed  a  dare-devil  moo<l  very  foreign  to  his 
nature.  He  grabbed  the  captain  by  the  arm  and 
bawled  his  name  aloud  in  the  street.  Then — 
"Come  in!  Come  in!"  he  cried.  "I've  been 
drinkin'  to  Merton  — an'  IVTerton's  been  drinkin'  to 
himself.    Join  us,  Dick,  and  we'll  drain  the  cellar." 


216 


Captain  Love 


"What  is  it  all  about?"  inquired  the  captain, 
allowing  himself  to  be  dragged  into  the  tavern. 

"  Why,  it's  for  the  drowning  of  sorrow,  as  far 
as  you  and  T  are  concerned,"  replied  Creighton. 
"  We're  out  ot  that  race,  my  son,  —  and  damn  glad 
I  am  to  know  it.  for  'twould  have  gone  mightily 
against  my  pride  to  marry  into  that  family  after 
what  happened  t'other  day." 

"  Wliat  the  devil  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  asked 
the  captain. 

Mr.  Creighton  paid  no  attenticwi  to  the  question, 
but  led  the  way  to  a  table  where  sat  Mr  Merton, 
flushed  of  face  and  broadly  grinning. 

"  He  has  come  in  for  Bullyham  and  ten  thousand 
a  year,"  cried  Creighton,  lowering  himself  heavily 
into  a  chair.  "  Look  at  him  grin,  the  hero!  And 
he's  been  around  to  Petre's  —  and  the  ladies  have 
invited  him  to  supper.  What  d'ye  think  of  that, 
Dick?  Are  you  asked  to  supper?  No,  lad,  and  no 
more  am  I !  " 

The  captain  congratulated  Mr.  Merton  on  his 
new  possessions.  The  master  of  Mertonwick  and 
Bullyham  received  the  congratulations  with  a 
warmth  that  almost  melted  him  to  tears. 

"  I'm  a  lucky  man.  Love,"  he  babbled.  "  Yester- 
day, mind  you,  I  was  one  of  the  poorest  gentlemen 


^I'^irm'M^y'' 


Disclosures 


217 


in  Dorset  —  and  now,  by  gad,  I'm  the  richest !  Yes- 
terday, or  thereabouts,  it  was  all  *  the  captain  and 
Mr.  Creighton '  and  '  Mr.  Creighton  and  the  cap- 
tain,' —  but  today  it  is  another  tune,  my  lads !  To- 
day it  is  nothing  but  '  Mr.  Merton '  —  and  that  is 
worth  ten  thousand  a  year,  or  I'm  a  liar !  " 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  asked  Love.     "Damme  if 
I  can  make  head  nor  tail  of  your  story." 

"  Oh,  it  is  simple  enough,"  said  Mr.  Creighton. 
"  Merton  is  drunk ;  but  I  see  the  truth  in  his  eye. 
You  will  have  noticed,  Dick,  that  our  worthy  friend 
has  seemed,  up  to  the  time  of  our  last  observation, 
to  occupy  third  position  in  the  friendly  race  in  which 
we  have  all  been  more  or  less  engaged  of  late.  Yes, 
Dick,  he  was  a  weak  third,  and  a  fool  to  look  at. 
But  now  he  wishes  you  to  understand  that  he  thinks 
he'll  win." 

The  captain  gazed  fixedly  at  Mr.  Merton.     The 
honest  fellow  looked  very  happy  and  very  drunk. 
"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  you  luck.    But  be  care- 
ful that  you  are  in  condition  to  keep  your  appoint- 
ment." 

The  parson  and  the  captain  supped  quietly  to- 
gether at  home.  The  parson  ate  little  and  talked 
less;  and  his  solicitous  host's  good  wine  was  fla- 
vourless on  his  tongue. 


■\9^A 


J 


11^ 


-I 


ii: 


218 


Captain  Love 


The  captain,  understanding  the  old  man's  sorrow, 
kept  silence  concerning  his  own  hopes  and  fears. 
When  the  meal  was  over  he  told  his  guest  that  he 
must  spend  a  few  hours  at  Babcock'a,  for  there  the 
gentlemen  of  the  town  were  to  be  met  with,  and 
he  must  tell  them  that  he  had  decided  to  go  on  a 
journey.  The  old  man  nodded,  smiled  kindly  and 
returned  to  his  meditations.  The  captain  left  him 
seated  in  a  great  chair  by  the  fire,  his  wig  on  his 
knee,  his  hands  clasped  together  and  his  gentle  eyes 
bent  on  the  dancing  flames. 

The  captain  made  known  his  intention  of  going 
north,  on  family  matters,  to  several  of  his  acquaint- 
ances; then,  with  what  money  he  could  aflford  to 
risk  convenient  in  his  right-hand  pocket,  he  went 
up-stairs.  Play  was  already  going  merrily  forward; 
cards  at  some  tables,  dice  at  others,  and  at  some  a 
game  calling  for  the  use  of  both  these  agents  of 
chance.  Wines  and  punches  were  being  served 
briskly.  Some  wigs  were  awry  and  not  a  few  were 
laid  aside.  Lace  ruffles  were  turned  back  over  wide 
cuflFs.  Whenever  a  candle  flared  and  smoked,  a 
silent-footed  attendant  trimmed  the  wick,  the  play- 
ers not  so  much  as  raising  their  eyes  from  the  busi- 
ness in  hand.  It  was  a  scene  that  had  begun  to 
pall  on  the  captain  —  and  yet  it  was  typical  of  his 


Disclosures 


219 


whole  existence  in  London.  He  would  have  one 
more  night  of  it  —  and  then  Babcock's  and  its  fre- 
quenters could  go  to  the  devil,  for  all  of  him.  He 
soon  found  an  empty  table  and  a  gentleman  who 
was  anxious  to  play. 

The  stakes  were  small;  but  fortune  favoured 
the  captain  so  persistently  that,  after  a  half -hour  of 
play,  a  group  of  idlers  gathered  about  the  players. 
Major  Scott  and  Lord  Buckley  joined  the  specta- 
tors; but  the  captain  saw  neither  of  them,  for  his 
mind  and  eyes  were  on  the  game.  Presently,  after 
a  whispered  word  in  Buckley's  ear,  the  major  with- 
drew from  the  quiet  crowd  about  the  table  and  went 
down-stairs.  He  returned  shortly,  accompanied  by 
a  tall  and  lean  gentleman  with  a  weather-beaten 
and  cadaverous  countenance.  The  stranger  wore 
a  serviceable  rapier  at  his  side  and  great  spurs  on 
the  heels  of  his  heavy  jack-boots.  His  costume  was 
of  a  military  style.  He  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  rank  of  onlookers  until  he  stood  close  behind 
the  gentleman  who  was  engaged  in  play  with  the 
captain. 

"  Impostor!"  cried  the  stranger,  in  a  harsh  and 
penetrating  voice. 

Every  one  within  ear-shot  turned  upon  him  with 
looks  of  dismay.     The  gentleman  against  whose 


220 


Captain  Love 


I:  'ft. 


•iH 


ill 


[I 

■  f-  ■ 


I 


Ik 


chair  he  leaned  twisted  around  in  his  seat,  swore, 
and  returned  to  the  game.  But  Captain  Love,  who 
sat  in  a  half -shadow,  did  not  lift  his  eyes  from  the 
cards  in  his  hand.  Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved 
—  though,  God  know  s,  his  heart  leapt  like  a  hare 
and  then  pounded  in  his  side. 

For  seconds  an  expectant  silence  held  the  room. 
Men  drew  their  breaths  softly  and  leaned  forward. 
Some  stared  at  the  dark-visaged  stranger;  others 
followed  his  penetrating  gaze  to  the  bent  head  of 
Captain  Love. 

"  You,  sir."  continued  the  stranger.  "  You  who 
call  yourself  Captain  Love  and  say  that  you  com- 
manded the  body-guard  of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey. 
Impostor,  I  give  you  the  He." 

At  that  the  captain  got  quickly  to  his  feet  and 
leaned  across  the  table  toward  his  accuser.  He 
would  face  the  trouble  like  a  man.  .'Xt  a  glance  he 
recognized  the  stranger  as  the  broken  mariner 
whom  he  had  entertained  on  Christmas  morning. 

The  recognition  was  mutual.  The  mariner 
turned  with  an  oath  and  grasped  Lord  Buckley  by 
tlie  shoulders. 

"  You  accursed  liar !  "  he  cried.  "  Hire  some  one 
else  to  do  your  dirty  tricks  for  you.  gallows  bird !  " 

The  earl  pulled  himself  free  of  the  great  hands. 


Disclosures 


221 


staggered,  babbled  a  few  incoherent  words  and  fell 
on  the  fl(xjr  in  a  fit.    Nobody  heeded  him. 

'•  This  gentleman,"  added  the  stranger,  pointing 
to  Captain  Love  and  turning  an  angry  face  on  the 
company,  "  is  an  honest  man  and  a  brave  one.  Be 
careful  how  you  lend  ear  to  lies  concerning  him." 

Then,  with  a  look  of  disgust  at  the  prostrate  earl, 
he  strode  from  the  room. 


;r 


!  !  !  t- 


CHAPTER    XXI 


FAREWELLS 


Now  the  captain  found  himself  more  of  a  hero 
than  ever  at  Babcock's.  Not  only  his  friends,  but 
jjentlemen  with  whom  he  had  hitherto  been  on  the 
merest  terms  of  civility,  pressed  about  him  and  con- 
gratulated him  on  his  victory  over  the  dishonour- 
able earl. 

The  captain  went  home  in  good  spirits,  heartened 
by  the  kindness  of  the  gentlemen  of  Lcmdon  and 
deeply  touched  by  the  loyalty  displayed  toward  him 
'»y  that  strange  person  whom  he  had  fed,  and  phi- 
losophized with,  on  Christmas  Day.  He  found  the 
parson  still  tip  and  awake,  st-ated  by  a  cold  hearth. 
He  told  him  of  the  night's  adventure ;  and  the  old 
man  was  quickened  from  his  reverie. 

"  My  dear  lad."  he  said,  anxiously,  "  we  must 
haste'ii  away  from  town.  You  are  not  safe  one 
moment  while  you  remain  in  the  same  place  with 
so  unprincipled  an  enemy. 

"  His  fangs  are  drawn."  replied  the  captain. 

"  Nay,"  returned  the  parson,  "  the  fangs  of  such 

222 


s«l 


IF^fP"^ 


iiiHUIJl 


Farewells 


223 


a  viper  are  to  be  feared  so  long  as  sin  and  poverty 
exist.  With  his  gold  he  will  buy  other  ruffians  to 
compass  your  undoing.  Let  us  take  saddle  early 
in  the  morning,  for  I  should  dearly  love  to  return 
you  to  the  arms  of  your  people  —  to  see  in  others 
that  joy  which  God,  in  his  infinite  wisdom,  has  seen 
fit  to  withhold,  for  a  little  while,  from  me." 

"  Sir,"  cried  the  captain,  impulsively,  "  your  care 
is  all  for  others,  while  I  concern  myself  with  but 
my  own  aflFairs.  And  even  in  realizing  this  (such 
an  egotist  am  I),  I  must  pity  myself  anew — for 
how  must  I  have  loved  and  honoured  the  son  of 
such  a  father." 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  I  love  you  for  it. 
Youth  is  ever  an  egotist,  and  old  age  a  nurse  and 
busybody." 

"  Then,  in  your  charity,  wait  for  me  until  to- 
morrow," begged  the  young  man. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  your  danger,"  replied  the  par- 
son. 

"  I  have  one  more  affair  to  deal  with,"  said  the 
captain. 

"  An  affair?  "  cried  the  other,  in  a  voice  of  agi- 
tation. 

"  Ay.  but  not  of  pistols  or  swords,"  replied  the 
captain,  pensively.    "  I  would  to  Heaven  it  were." 


t 

m 

If.!- 


m 


]^i^ 


224 


Captain  Love 


felt  bonds  eiKK)sing  him.  an  1  1   -^  spirit  st     Jfiti^ 
aj^ainst  tiiein.     Rtit  In     >  oul     p       fo-     M-:    impulse 

He  would 
jinise  and 


the 


vas 

n- 


SiMwi  after  ireaktast,  on  the  following  mornins^, 
the  captain  valked  around  ^-i  liie  h  hisc  of  Sir  John 
Petre.  He  could  decuie  oi  n*.  plan  of  acti(»n;  but 
to  act  honourably  he  ,  as  deremnned.     Air  ady  he 

" ■    "1""  •"•    ■  "       ot»   ' 

Rtit  In  >  oul  p  fo' 
of  a  monient  v  th  a  lotic  -er  'ce. 
fores  vear,  ii'  need  be,  ev  n  tli  lag-tc 
haununi^  s\v('?'tiie     of  hi    drt 

To  his  surprisf     ind  great! v 
told  thu!  th'    ic^ro!    t  h;  '    ''turn 
try.     Th     gruu^e     c  o\v  sat       ntleman  for  the 

kidnappi   ••    afT  as        ue  completely    from   his 

■mber  the  old  friendship 
vn  broken  word.     He  fol- 
e  library  with  timidity  and 
ce  with  a  fluttering  heart, 
in.      osed  the  door  behind 
cap    in  with  a  question  in 
h's  pves  a       a  flush    u'  guilt  on  his  face.     The  cap- 
in  returne     the  r  .^e  with  equal  diffidence. 
"  1        ,"       d  Petre,  at  last.  "  before  you  upbraid 
se,  T  uTnt  you  to  know  that  I  am  will'nt;  to  beg 
your    lai  don  n      ousand  times  for  —  for  the  liberty 
I  to*>k  with  yoir  nevsiW  and  for  my  cowardly  flight 


nind.     He  couli  oi   y 
and  K  ndness.  and  ;  is 
lowed  the  -     .ant  int< 
awaited  Sir       hn's 

The  baronet  s 
him.  and  looked 


Farewells 


225 


the  morning  after.  I'll  go  down  on  my  knees  to 
you,  Dick !     1*11  do  anything  hut  fig! it  you !  " 

"John!"  crif  the  r.iptain,  "Join,  it  is  I  who 
should  talk  of  km   ling  for  pardon," 

The  baronet  advanced  and  laid  his  hands  on  the 
younger  man  »  shoulders. 

"  Nay,"  he  said.  "  having  heard  it  long  ago,  from 
your  own  lips,  what  care  1  fo  Lord  Buckley's  gos- 
sip? Though  a  cruel  fate  had  made  you  seventy 
times  an  iniixxstor  —  seventy  times  not  Captain 
Love  —  you  are  my  friend,  Dick." 

The  captain  steadied  his  wits. 

*'  So  you  have  heard  from  Lord  Buckley  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Bright  and  early  yeste^-day  morning,"  replied 
the  baronet,  "  and  my  heart  ached  for  both  you  and 
the  old  parson.  Will  you  give  me  your  hand, 
Dick?" 

They  shook  hands  warmly. 

"  I  want  you  to  let  me  help  you,"  continued 
Petre.  "Whatever  is  in  my  power,  that  I  will 
gladly  do." 

For  a  little  the  captain  was  silent.  He  could  not 
confess  the  indiscretion  that  lay  so  heavily  on  his 
mind   without   implicating-  ♦'      lady.     Th       -ould 


l*-HiN- 


;l 


''f " 


r. 


m 


.»^ 


226 


Captain  Love 


surely  be  an  ungentlemanly  return  for  the  brother's 
friendship  and  the  sister's  tenderness.  He  saw, 
alas,  that  the  moment  had  not  yet  come  for  entire 
frankness.  Evidently  the  Petre  family  had  not 
got  news  of  his  triumph  over  Buckley  before  the 
assembled  gentlemen  at  Babcock's. 

"  I  am  going  northward  in  a  few  hours,"  he  said, 
"  to  look  for  my  home  and  name.  But  I  shall  never 
forget  your  kindness,  John,  —  never,  so  long  as  I 
live." 

His  words  were  sincere. 

"  But,  John,"  he  cr\'.tinued,  "can  you  tell  me  if 

—  if  Dorothy  —  if  I  must  give  up  all  hope  of  her 

—  her  esteem  ?  " 

The  anxiety  in  his  voice  was  real.  Heaven  knows; 
but  the  baronet  was  in  darkness  as  to  the  true  cause 
of  it.  He  looked  compassionately  at  the  agitated 
adventurer. 

"  You  are  young,  Dick,  and  life  is  before  you," 
he  said.  "  Your  true  place  in  the  world,  I  am  sure, 
is  a  great  one  —  greater,  though  not  braver,  than 
this  in  which  you  have  been  forced  to  masquerade. 
Keep  a  brave  heart,  Dick,  for  the  world  is  full  of 
good  and  beautiful  women." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ?  "  asked  the  captain,  eagerly. 

The  baronet  sighed,  and  averted  his  face  from 


i  \ 


rttaH 


mm 


Farewells 


227 


the  rnxious  gaze  of  his  friend.     He  did  not  relish 
his  duty. 

"  She  had  taken  the  exposure  of  your  position 
very  much  to  heart,"  he  said.  He  drew  a  small, 
flat  parcel  from  his  pocket.  "  And  —  and  she  has 
asked  me  to  give  you  back  your  book,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

What  was  the  emotion  that  snatched  the  colour 
from  the  captain's  cheeks  as  he  advanced  an  un- 
steady hand  for  the  packet?  Whatever  it  was,  it 
moved  Sir  John  to  renewed  compassion. 

"  Dick,"  he  whispered,  huskily,  "  this  scene  pains 
me  beyond  words." 

"  I  was  mad  ever  to  think  of  her,"  murmured 
the  captain.  "There  are  men  with  names  — and 
property.  Oh,  yes,  I  was  a  fool;  but  I  see  my 
folly." 

"  Nay,  Dick,  do  not  take  it  so  to  heart,"  beggtd 
the  baronet. 

The  captain  flushed  at  that.  Then  he  made  a 
remark  that  puzzled  his  friend  —  and  continued  to 
puzzle  him  for  many  days. 

"  John,"  he  cried.  "  'tis  your  friendship  I  would 
not  lose!  Your  friendship,  that  takes  no  heed  of 
riches,  is  the  thing  I  value  above  all  other  things 
in  London ! " 


mSssm 


I 


!! 


228 


Captain  Love 


On  returning  to  his  house,  Capain  Love  found 
the  broken  mariner,  still  in  the  great  boots,  the  spurs 
and  the  ricing-co^t  of  the  previous  night,  entertain- 
ing the  parson  with  his  learning  and  philosophy. 
The  captain  greeted  him  cordially. 

•'  I  have  come,"  said  the  mariner,  "  to  warn  you 
against  Lord  Buckley ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  beg 
your  protection.  This  reverend  gentleman,  your 
father,  informs  me  that  you  intend  starting  north- 
ward within  the  hour.    May  I  ride  with  you,  sir?  " 

For  a  moment  the  captain  hesitated. 

"  Surely,"  cried  the  stranger,  "  you  cannot  sus- 
pect me  of  still  being  the  tool  of  the  man  whom 
I  so  lately  exposed  to  open  shame?  Nay,  captain, 
for  by  .''at  act  —  inspired  by  your  charity  to  a 
beggar  —  I  have  turned  London  into  a  trap  of 
death  :-  myself.  Whatever  your  trouble  may  be, 
the  danger  is  to  both  of  us." 

"  Forgive  me."  said  the  captain.  "  God  knows 
I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  your  courage  and 
honesty  of  last  night.  I  shall  feel  honoured  by 
your  company." 

"  And  I,  also,"  said  the  good  parson. 
"  And  ""t,"  said  the  stranger,  bitterly,  "  if  I  had 
not  seer   1  i    ou  the  friend  of  Christmas  morning, 


Farewells 


229 


I'd  have  maintained  my  lie  with  my  sword,  and 
shed,  for  hire,  the  blood  ol  "he  man  who  fed  me." 
The  captain  looked  at  the  parson  and  met  his 
troubled  regard  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  It  was  no  lie,  after  all,"  he  said  to  the  big  ad- 
venturer. "  Buckley  told  the  truth  when  he  named 
me  an  impostor.  I  am  not  Captain  Love.  I  am 
not  the  son  of  this  forgiving  and  charitable  gentle- 
man.   I  do  not  know  who  I  am." 

The  stranger  looked  from  the  captain  to  the  ar- 
son, and  back  again.    Then  he  laughed. 

"  I  try  not  to  be  overparticular  about  the  company 
I  keep."  he  said. 

The  captain's  face  became  bloodless  in  an  instant. 
The  spirit  of  all  his  ancestors  —  whoever  they  might 
be  —  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"  This  priest,  the  Reverend  John  Love,  is  not  an 
impostor."  he  said;  "but  if  you  are  more  nice  in 
your  associates  than  he,  you  may  leave  us.  Or,  if 
you  wish  to  try  to  regain  the  esteem  of  Lord  Buck- 
ley, and  earn  his  money,  —  why.  I  do  not  fear  -our 
great  sword  any  more  than  one  of  the  spits  in  my 
kitchen.  Though  you  were  as  big  as  Hercules.  I'd 
tell  you  the  same,  for  I'm  done  with  play-acting  and 
lying." 


*t>  ', 


230 


Captain  Love 


■|| 


li 


\ 


"  By  G(xl,"  cried  the  other,  "  if  ever  I  draw  sword 
in  your  presence,  'twill  be  in  your  defence.  You 
may  tell  me  your  story  or  you  may  keep  it  from 
me ;  but  only  let  me  share  your  adventures  and  I'll 
prove  a  loyal  follower.  If  you  have  no  name  in 
England,  sir.  why  not  cut  yourself  one  in  the  west 
or  the  east  ?  We  could  lead  armies  and  set  thrones 
tottling,  you  and  I." 

His  dark,  aquiline  face  glowed  with  an  inner 
flame.  His  mad  dreams  lifted  his  whole  person- 
aHty,  like  a  poet's  inspiration.  His  hand  went  to 
his  sword-hilt  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

But  the  captain  was  not  tempted. 

"  I  have  made  one  name  for  myself,"  said  he, 
"  and  little  enough  of  happiness  has  come  of  it ; 
but  I  tliink  the  name  (here  he  bowed  gravely  to 
the  parson)  has  suffered  as  much  as  I.  Now  my 
quest  is  the  name  of  my  fathers." 

The  other  came  down  to  earth. 

"I  do  not  understand  your  position,"  he  said; 
"  but  evidently  it  is  very  different  from  mine." 

He  looked  searchingly  from  the  parson  to  the 
captain.  Their  game  was  beyond  his  comprehen- 
sion, but  his  heart  was  with  them  and  his  curiosity 
was  keenly  aroused. 


CHAPTER   XXII 


AT   THE   WHITE   HERON 


The  captain  rode  out  to  the  White  Heron  on  the 
night  before  his  departure  northward.  He  said 
nothing  of  where  he  was  going  to  the  pprson,  not 
wishing  to  excite  the  old  gentleman's  anxiety;  but, 
not  knowing  how  many  of  Buckley's  ruffians  might 
be  lurking  in  the  dark  streets,  he  left  his  famous 
gray  in  the  stables  and  bestrode  a  small,  black  mare. 
To  Buckley's  cutthroats  he  weald  be  known  by  his 
horse  rather  than  by  his  own  person;  but,  for  all 
that,  he  kept  his  right  hand  on  a  pistol-butt  and  his 
eyes  ever  on  the  alert. 

This  visit  was  one  for  which  he  had  but  little 
appetite,  for  even  now,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure 
in  search  of  his  lost  past,  he  feared  the  young 
woman's  beauty,  and  the  pleading  of  her  wonderful 
eyes,  more  than  the  clubs  and  pistols  of  all  Buck- 
ley's followers.  But  he  owed  a  duty  —  the  duty  of 
a  friend  —  to  both  her  and  her  father. 

The  night  was  starlit  and  frosty,  and  the  thor- 

231 


f 


1.1  il 


Jt 


232 


Captain  Love 


ough fares  and  roads  almost  deserted;  so  the  cap- 
tain pressed  forward  at  a  brisk  trot  which  brought 
him,  shortly,  to  the  door  of  the  inn.  Leaving  the 
mare  blanketed  and  in  charge  of  a  boy,  he  opened 
the  door  and  entered  without  waiting  for  word  of 
his  arrival  to  be  carried  to  his  friend  the  innkeeper. 
In  the  public  room  he  found  only  one  person  — a 
traveller,  evidently,  who  had  journeyed  far,  for  he 
sat  by  the  fire  in  an  attitude  of  extreme  weariness, 
with  his  great  cloak  still  on  his  shoulders  and  the 
collar  of  it  high  about  his  face. 

"  Sharp  weather,"  said  the  captain,  hoping  to 
get  a  glimpse  at  the  stranger's  face;  for  men  who 
sit  close  to  roaring  fires,  with  their  cloaks  about 
their  ears,  are  sometimes  worth  looking  at  —  more 
especially  so  if  you  happen  to  be  in  the  black  books 
of  gentlemen  of  Lord  Buckley's  kidney.  For  an- 
swer, the  stranger  only  hiinched  closer  to  the  fire. 
The  captain  gazed  at  him  for  a  few  seconds  in  si- 
lence, —  then,  "  Where  is  the  landlord  ?  "  he  asked. 
At  that  the  man  by  the  fire  turned  quickly  toward 
his  questioner  and  as  quickly  back  again ;  and  Love 
caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  young,  pale  face,  very 
thin,  as  if  from  hardships  suffered. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  here 
but  a  few  minutes." 


ife 


At  the  White  Heron 


233 


At  that  i  loment  Clark  entered  the  room  and  ad- 
vanced on  the  captain  with  an  exclamation  of  de- 
light and  his  great  right  hand  extended. 

"  My  dear  colonel,  this  warms  me  more  than  hot 
liquor,"  he  cried.  "  Rip  me  if  it  doesn't  seem  a  year 
since  I  last  set  eyes  on  you." 

The  captain  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it 
hard. 

"  Don't  think  me  unmindful  of  your  friendship," 
he  said.  "  I've  been  busy,  of  late,  with  one  thing 
and  another  —  and  now  I  have  come  to  bid  you 
good-bye,  for  I'm  going  home  to-morrow." 

"  Home?  "  queried  Qark.  "  Then  you've  found 
yrjr  people?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  look  for  them.  I've  got  the  secret. 
I  know  the  county  they  live  in,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  for  your  sake  an'  the  sake 
of  your  people;  but  I'm  sorry  for  myself,  an'  that's 
a  fact,"  said  Clark.  Just  then  he  noticed  the  man 
by  the  hearth. 

"What  is  your  pleasue   sir?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  quite  comfonal 'e,  thank  you,"  replied 
the  stranger,  without  turning. 

"If  you  want  food,  or  drink  hot  or  cold,  pull  that 
bell,  sir,  an'  one  of  the  lads  will  come  to  you."  said 


,  ft 


]V 


f. 


t) 


I 


11 


•  » 


iU 


234 


Captain  Love 


Clark.  Then,  taking  Love  by  the  elbow,  "  Come 
along  with  me,  colonel,"  he  whispered. 

"  I  can  stay  for  only  a  few  minutes.  I'm  pressed 
for  ti.ne,  Joe,"  replied  the  captain.  "  My  mare's 
at  the  door  and  I  must  hurry  back  to  town." 

"  But  you'll  say  a  word  to  the  lass.  She  has  a 
heart  full  of  gratitude  for  you,  sir,  though  she  is  not 
the  kind  to  talk  much  about  it,"  said  Qark. 

They  found  the  young  woman  in  the  private 
parlour,  seated  very  disconsolately  with  a  book  in 
her  lap  and  her  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"  Here  is  the  colonel,"  said  her  father.  At  that, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  uttering  a  brief,  soft  cry; 
made  as  if  to  run  forward,  but  halted  and  faced  him 
with  wide  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks. 

The  captain  halted  also,  looking  at  her  with  some- 
thing of  regret  and  something  of  shame  in  his  young 
face;  then,  stepping  forward,  he  lifted  one  of  her 
slender  hands  to  his  lips. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye  ?  "  she  repeated,  in  a  low  and  ques- 
tioninrr  voice. 

"I  am  going  home,"  he  said,  without  meeting 
her  wonderful  and  pitiful  eyes. 

"  The  colonel  is  going  home  to  his  people,  'way 


At  the  White  Heron 


235 


up  north,"  said  Clark,  in  a  voice  none  too  steady  and 
of  forced  cheerfulness. 

Then  the  lady  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes, 
shifted  them  to  her  bosom,  and  uttered  a  little  cry 
of  desolation.  Gark  strode  toward  her;  but  Love 
caught  her  as  she  swayed.  Her  eyes  were  closed 
and  her  face  gleamed  white  as  candle-wax.  Dis- 
mayed, abashed,  he  lifted  the  pliant  form  and  car- 
ried it  to  a  couch  by  the  wall.  Clark  brought  brandy 
and  water,  and  loosened  the  front  of  her  bodice. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  God,  what  have  I  done  ?  "  cried 
the  captain. 

"  Nay.  lad,  'tis  but  a  swoon,"  replied  Clark. 
"  See,  the  red  is  coming  back  to  her  cheeks.  But 
she  is  not  overstrong,  nowadays,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  her?  What  can  I  get  for 
her?"  asked  the  young  man,  desperately.  Gark 
looked  up,  his  brows  puckered  but  his  eyes  kind. 

"  Don't  worry,  lad ;  women  have  queer  ways,"  he 
said.    "  Now  ride  along,  sir,  and  God  be  with  you." 

The  captain  hesitated,  gazing  down  at  the  still 
and  beautiful  face  of  the  woman  whom  he  had 
rescued  from  that  house  of  horror, 

"  You  had  better  go  now,  lad,  wnile  her  eyes  are 
shut,"  ^  .d  the  innkeeper,  quietly.  "  For  she  has 
taken  a  liking  to  you  —  you  saved  her  from  a  living 


'i 


1 


r 


,fi) 
ili 


n 


If 


ih 


236 


Captain  Love 


hell,  remember  —  am!  it's  a  hard  thing  to  see  a 
friend  ride  away  for  ever." 

An  unreasonable  shame  and  a  keen  pity  gripped 
the  captain's  heart  and  flushed  his  face.  With  not 
a  word  at  his  tongue,  but  a  jumble  of  unutterable 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  he  touched  the  woman's  fore- 
head with  his  hand,  hesitated  for  a  moment  with  his 
eyes  on  her  face,  and  then  walked  swiftly  from  the 
room.  He  passed,  as  swiftly,  through  the  public 
hall,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  stepped 
out  on  to  the  frosty  road,  mounted,  and  cantered 
townward. 

The  stranger  beside  the  hearth  had  turned  and 
looked  inquiringly  after  the  captain.  When  the 
door  had  closed  ;  nd  the  ringing  of  the  hoof-beats 
on  the  iron  road  had  died  away,  he  got  up  and  pulled 
the  bell  which  Qark  had  indicated  to  him  a  few 
minutes  before.  A  boy  appeared  from  an  inner 
room  in  answer  to  the  summons. 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman  who  has  but  now  ridden 
away  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  That  was  Captain  Love,  ir,"  replied  the  boy. 
The  name  meant  nothing  to  the  traveller,  for  he  had 
but  lately  returned  from  France,  and  had  not  been 
in  London  within  a  space  of  several  years. 

"  I  want  brandy,  hot,  with  leinon  and  sugar,"  he 


'F^&OP 


At  the  White  Heron 


237 


said ;  and  then,  as  the  boy  turned  to  go,  he  said, 
"  Hold  a  minute.     Js  your  master's  name  Qaric?" 

"  Yes,  sir.    Joseph  Clark,"  replied  the  lad. 

"Does  he  —  does  he  still  live  here  alone?" 

"  No,  sir.    The  young  lady  is  home." 

"  The  young  lady,"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  facing 
squarely  around  and  staring  at  the  lad  with  a  look 
of  incredulity. 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  young  lady  —  the  master's  daugh- 
ter," replied  the  boy,  readily.  "  She  was  away  a 
long  time,"  he  continued,  "  and  they  do  say  there 
was  something  queer  about  it  —  queerer  than  the 
master  will  allow.  But  she  come  home  safe  an' 
sound,  but  kind  of  distracted  lookin',  not  very  long 
ago." 

"  Is  she  —  married  ?  "  asked  the  traveller,  in  a 
voice  scarce  above  a  whisper  and  thin  as  a  wind 
unde.  the  eaves. 

"  That  I  couldn't  say,"  answered  the  boy.  "  Some 
hold  she's  a  widder  —  that  she  ran  away  to  a 
foreign  country,  with  a  young  gentleman  not  known 
in  these  parts,  an'  that  he  died  an'  left  her  without 
a  penny.  Some  say  she  never  wed  the  gentleman 
at  all,  an*  that  he  run  away  from  her.  He'd  be  a 
fool  to  do  that,  for  you'd  not  find  her  match  for 
looks  if  you  hunted  a  year." 


f 


r ' 


lid- 


^li 


[H 


m 


'•  J 


iGJt 


«i 


\K  ! 


238 


Captain  Love 


For  several  seconds  the  stranger  continued  to 
stare  at  the  fx>y  as  if  he  were  fascinated.  His  face 
was  colourless  but  his  eyes  shone  like  fire.  Pres- 
ently, he  said,  "Why  d'ye  stand  there  gossiping? 
Fetch  the  liquor,  lad.     Fetch  the  liquor." 

Then  he  discarded  his  :loak,  and  fell  to  pacing 
the  floor,  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  fire.  He 
was  a  man  of  about  the  captain's  size  and  figure 
and,  though  his  face  showed  the  wear  of  sorrow 
and  scanty  living,  he  was  evidently  not  more  than 
thirty  years  of  age.  His  clothes  fitted  him  to  a 
wish,  but  were  shabby  from  long  and  rough  usage. 
He  displayed  his  own  hair,  which  was  dark  and 
well-cared  for  and  tied  neatly.  Only  his  great 
boots  were  new :  and  the  linen  at  wrists  and  neck 
was  fre.-''  and  white.  In  plac  .  ?  a  fashionable 
small-swoid  or  rapier,  a  militai-  r.u*;  •  < 'ragged  at 
his  left  side.  He  walked  with  .  »'•  hrao  erect,  his 
eyes  flashing,  and  his  hands  behi  I  'i:;  i^ack,  clasp- 
ing and  unclasping. 

"  Can  it  be  ?  "  he  murmured.  "  Dear  God,  can 
this  be  true?  Or  do  I  fall  again?  — go  under  the 
blind  wheels  again  ?  " 

At  that  moment  both  Clark  and  the  boy  entered, 
the  boy  carrying  a  tray  on  which  stood  two  glasses 


Ti'-T-'-  :PS 


T.r'^"i'.l-  ::»*.. V  :, 


w^ 


v^^^ 


At  the  White  Heron 


269 


of  steaming  liquor.     The  stranger  took  one  and 
Clark  the  other. 

"  You  have  travelled  far,  I  take  it,  and  have  an 
appetite  for  the  best,"  said  Qark.  "  Well,  sir,  this 
is  the  best  brandy  out  of  France,  and  here's  your 
very  good  health." 

"And  yours,  landlord,"  returned  the  stranger, 
and  drained  the  generous  glass  at  a  draught.  "  It 
is  good  liquor,"  he  continued.  "  I  am  but  just  ar- 
rived from  France,  and  there  I  tasted  no  better. 
Boy,  bring  two  more  such  brews.  We'll  drink  to 
each  other  again,  Master  Clark  for  'tis  not  every 
day  that  a  man  returns,  out  of  bitter  exile,  to  his 
own  country." 

"  I  will  join  you,  sir,  with  ail  my  heart ;  but  you 
must  excuse  me  for  a  minute  or  two,"  replied  the 
innkeeper.  "My  daughter  is  but  now  reco  ered 
from  a  fainting-spell,  and  I  must  see  if  she  requires 
anything." 

"  Is  she  ill  ?  "  cried  the  stranger,  in  a  voice  so 
earnest  and  fearful  that  Claik  turned  on  him  with 
both  perplexity  and  suspicion  in  his  glance.  But  be- 
fore he  could  reply,  the  oucer  door  f?ew  open  and, 
preceded  by  a  gust  of  frosty  air,  Lord  Buckley 
strode  into  the  room. 

"A  devilish  night,"  he  cried.     "Damme,  but 


240 


Captain  Love 


'twould  freeze  the  vitals  of  a  red  Indian.  Bring  me 
your  best,  fellow,  an'  bring  it  hot  as  hell  — an' 
quick,  too!" 

He  swaggered  over  to  the  fire,  flung  his  cloak 
aside  and  again  bawled  for  liquor,  swearing  all  the 
while  like  a  pirate.  The  stranger  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  earl  and  his  face  close  to  the  indignant 
countenance  of  the  landlord. 

"  D'ye  know  that  man?  "  he  asked,  very  low  but 
cold  as  ice, 

"  No,"  cried  Clark.  "  But  though  he  were  king 
of  this  island,  he'd  not  bawl  so  at  me,  more  than 
once.    I'm  a  sound  yeoman,  I  am." 

"  Keep  cool,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  This  is  my 
affair." 

Something  in  his  voice  silenced  Qark  and  turned 
his  mind  quite  away  from  his  own  independence  and 
soundness. 

The  stranger  advanced  a  few  paces  toward  the 
earl,  moving  sideways  a  little  and  halting  between 
the  hearth  and  the  door. 

"  This  is  more  than  I  have  ever  hoped  for,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  prayed  for  this.  Draw  your  sword, 
you  loathly  beast." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ?  "  cried  Buckley.  "  Who  are 
you?    Why  do  you  address  me  so? " 


si 


At  the  White  Heron 


241 


The  bully  was  gone,  and  a  coward  stood  there, 
gaping. 

"Fool,  are  you  blind?"  retorted  the  stranger. 
"  Look  at  me.    Exert  your  putrid  wits." 

"  My  God ! "  cried  the  earl,  and  pulled  out  his 
sword  in  a  manner  of  hopeless  desperation,  like  one 
who  has  no  choice  but  to  fight  the  devil. 

Something  whistled  in  the  air  like  a  gust  of  hail, 
and  there  gleamed  the  stranger's  great  sabre,  red  as 
flame  in  the  firelight. 

"  On  guard,"  he  cried,  and  sprang  forward.  By 
what  seemed  a  miracle,  the  earl  turned  the  first 
awful  cut.  For  a  few  seconds,  always  shuffling 
backward,  he  managed  to  keep  out  of  the  stranger's 
reach  and,  at  the  same  time,  maintain  a  pretence  of 
sword-play.  Then  the  point  of  che  sabre  tore  the 
breast  of  his  coat.  With  a  choking  scream  he 
turned  and  dashed  around  the  hall,  the  man  with 
the  sabre  close  at  his  heels. 

The  earl,  unable  to  muster  courage  to  pause  and 
snatch  open  a  door,  fled  aroimd  and  around  the  wide 
apartment ;  and  the  shabby  stranger  tore  after  him. 
flashing  the  great  sabre  and  roaring  for  the  other 
to  stop  and  turn  and  give  battle. 

'*  Hold !  "  cried  Gark.  "  Give  over,  you  young 
devil !    I'll  have  •  o  murder  in  my  house." 


242 


■. 


'i* 


'■}. 


H 
ry 


m^ 


Captain  Love 


The  young  man  paid  no  heed,  but  made  a  slash  at 
his  flying  antagonist  which  reached  one  of  the  fat 
shoulders.  Before  he  could  recover  his  balance 
from  the  stroke,  Qark  had  him  tight  in  his  long 
arms.  He  struggled  furiously,  but  hopelessly;  and 
the  earl,  bleeding  and  choking,  pulled  open  the  door 
and  dashed  into  the  night. 

"That  is  the  man!  Why  did  you  let  him  get 
"wr    ?  "  said  a  voice  behind  Clark. 

Clark  turned ;  but  the  young  man  did  not  follow 
the  earl.  Instead,  he  let  his  great  sabre  clatter  to  the 
floor  and  looked  at  the  young  woman  who  stood  on 
the  threshold  of  the  inner  doorway.  But  she  was 
looking  at  her  father. 

"  What  man?  "  asked  Clark. 

"  The  man  who  killed  my  —  husband,"  said  she. 
The  innkeeper  uttered  an  exclamation  of  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Beatrice,  Beatrice,"  cried  the  young  man,  softly. 

The  woman  steadied  herself  against  the  jamb  of 
the  door.  Her  father,  puzzled  and  enraged,  turned 
upon  the  stranger.  "  And  you  .-*  Who  the  devil  are 
you  ?  "  he  roared. 

The  other  paid  no  heed.  "  Beatrice,"  he  cried 
again.     "Beatrice,  have  you  forgotten  me?" 


At  the  White  Heron 


243 


"I   thought  — you   were  dead,"   whispered  the 
woman. 

The  stranger's  face  became  more  haggard  than 
ever  and  his  eyes  were  dimmed  with  fear. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  dead  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands;  and  Clark  stood 
staring  from  one  to  the  other. 

"I  paid  his  ruffians  heavily  for  my  life and 

they  took  me  to  France  where  I  was  close  guarded 
—  and  'twas  but  six  days  ago  that  my  exile  ended," 
he  said,  his  voice  grown  listless.    And  then,  "  if  you 
would  have  it  so  — if  the  memory  is  dead  in  your 
heart  —  I  will  go  back,"  he  added,  slowly.    At  that, 
she  began  to  weep,  leaning  there  with  her  face  be- 
tween her  hands,  and  her  hands  pressed  against  the 
frame  of  the  doorway.    This  was  surely  beyond  any 
woman's  fortitude !    Here  stood  the  man  whom  she 
had  once  loved  — and  whom  she  had  long  ceased 
to  mourn.     But  she  had  learned  many  lessons.     It 
would  be  no  great  matter,  perhaps,  to  learn  to  care 
for  him  again.     There  had  been  a  brief  season  — 
God  pity  her  —  when  even  the  vile  Buckley  had  not 
been  repulsed.     She  had  only  learned  to  hate  him 
for  his  cruelty  —  for  his  personal  violence  and  the 
imprisonment  he  had  enforced  upon  her.     Had  he 


244 


-^ 


f  i 


4} 


lili 


1 


Captain  Love 


spent  money  for  her  comfort,  and  taken  her  into  the 
world,  and  never  struck  her  —  well,  who  can  say  ? 
But  she  hated  him  now;  and  she  had  seen  him 
escape  from  just  punishment.  And  the  fine  captain 
had  also  ridden  away.  To  the  very  last,  she  had 
hoped  for  another  turn  to  that  aflFair.  She  had 
made  her  plans  "hen  they  had  first  ridden  into 
London  together;  but  Fate  —  or  something 
stronger  —  had  played  against  her.  Her  bitter 
reflections  were  disturbed  by  the  shabby  young 
man  —  her  husband. 

"  For  God's  sake,  tell  me!  Have  pity  on  me! " 
he  cried. 

"  I  must  make  the  best  of  things  as  they  are," 
she  thought.  "  I  loved  him.  once.  Perhaps  that 
—  that  sort  of  love  —  may  come  to  me  again." 
Oh,  but  she  was  an  incomparable  actor.  She  turned 
and  moved  toward  him,  her  beautiful,  wistful  face 
wet  with  tears. 

"It  is  for  you  to  he  men  fnl."  she  whispered, 
brokenly. 

Ay,  she  could  act!  Sometimes  she  even  fooled 
lierself ! 


ii 


■,}(♦ 


M 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"  EXPECTANS   EQUITO  " 

Captain  Love,  the  parson,  the  big  stranger  who 
gave  his  name  as  William  Chester,  and  old  David 
Frunk,  rode  away  at  half-past  one  by  the  clock.  The 
young  footman  had  gone  around  the  corner  to 
spend  something  of  his  wages  with  convivial  com- 
pany, before  seeking  a  new  place.     Old  Tom  and 
his  wife  sat  alone  in  the  basement  of  the  house,  re- 
gretting the  generous  captain  and  praying  for  a 
new   tenant.     Two  o'clock  had   scarcely  finished 
sounding   from   a   near-by  steeple   when   a   great 
coach  drawn  by  four  horses  rolled  up  the  street 
and  stopped  before  the  door.    By  the  time  the  foot- 
man was  out  of  the  rumble,  old  Tom  was  bowing 
on  the  step. 

"  Be  this  the  house  o'  Cap'n  Love?  "  inquired  the 
footman. 

"  It  were,  a  while  back."  replied  Tom.     "  But 

he  rid  away  half  a  hour  aggo,  with  his  f adder  the 

passon,  the  old  man's  man  David  an'  a  big  black- 

246 


WWHBWS!?? 


".i^-MM'/i 


246 


Captain  Love 


IL  '.  J 


mif 


visaged  galoot  what  looked  like  a  pirate  an'  the 
very  spit  o'  a  ragged  beggar  my  master  fed  on 
Christmas  Day." 

"  Rid  away?  Where'd  he  ride?  "  asked  the  foot- 
man. At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  coach,  with 
its  arms  surmounted  by  an  earl's  coronet,  swung 
open  and  a  wonderful  pale-faced  gentleman  in  a 
black  wig  and  snufT-coloured  coat  looked  out.  His 
anxious  eyes  dwelt  inquiringly  upon  the  walnut 
countenance  of  old  Tom. 

"  Is  not  your  master    at  home  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Axin'  your  lordship's  parding,"  stammered 
Tom,  "  the  capting  rid  off  a  half-hour  ago,  with 
Parson  Love,  me  lord,  who  come  here  oniy  yester- 
day hisself.  a-lookin'  for  him." 

The  gentleman's  brow  wrinkled  with  perplexity. 

"  .'Xnd  was  Lord  Verton  with  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  were  a  fine,  large,  dark-faced  gentleman 
with  'em,  your  lordship,"  replied  Tom. 

"  Lord  Verton  is  young  and  slender,"  said  the 
nobleman  in  the  carriaee.  with  despair  in  his  voice. 

The  old  caretaker  hobbled  nearer  and  gazed  def- 
erentially into  the  other's  face. 

"  Would  your  lordship  be  any  relation  to  the  cap- 
ting?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  the  gentleman,  shortly.     Then,  after 


"  Expectans  Equito  " 


247 


a  moment's  reflection —  "  Why  do  you  ask?"  he 
inquired. 

"  The  capting's  got  your  lordship's  eyes  an'  your 
lordship's  mouth,  your  lordship,"  replied  Tom. 
"  Ay,"  he  cried,  "  an'  your  lordship's  hands." 

"Impossible,"  exclaimed  the  other,  "Captain 
Love  has  blue  eyes  —  light  blue.  His  hand  is  short 
and  broad.  His  mouth  —  nay,  his  mouth,  I  think, 
is  straighter  than  mine." 

Old  Tom  eyed  him  shrewdly.  Something  of 
David  Frank's  remark  concerning  the  captain  re- 
curred to  him.  "  Would  Lord  Verton  be  slim  an' 
quick,  your  lordship?— always  ready  to  give  a 
poor  man  a  crown  an'  a  bully  a  kick  —  with  your 
lordship's  permission  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ay,  generous  and  brave,"  replied  the  gentleman, 
"  with  a  taste  for  fine  clothing  and  new  hooks,  and 
all  that  is  genrle  and  lovely." 

Tom  looked  steadily  at  the  great  man. 
"  The  capting  be  young,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  an' 
dark  of  eye;    he  be  quick  of  hand  an'  heart;    he 
be  brave  as  a  lion ;  he  be  full  of  rhymes  an'  books; 
he  be  dressed  like  a  prince  every  day  o'  the  week." 

"Then  there  is  some  mistake,"  said  the  noble- 
man, wearily,  "  for  the  Captain  Love  who  is  my 
son's  friend  is  squarely  built  and  past  forty  years 


248 


Captain  Love 


of  age.  Your  description,  my  good  man,  is  of  my 
son  —  though  God  alone  knows  the  meaning  of 
that." 

"  Ay,  your  lordship,"  whispered  Tom,  "  it  be 
surely  of  your  son,  whatever  his  name  may  be. 
The  riddle's  not  for  the  likes  o'  me  to  read,  your 
lordship ;  but  they  has  gone  northward  ~  the  young 
gentleman  who  was  my  master,  the  old  gentleman 
who  came  a-lo<*in'  for  his  son  the  capting.  the 
man-servant  who  looked  clean  mazed  at  what  he 
found,  an'  the  big,  hawk-faced  gentleman  with  a 
sword  like  a  scythe." 

The  nobleman  leaned  forward  and  caught  the  old 
fellow  by  the  arm.  In  his  face  shone  hope,  dread 
and  bewilderment. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  cried,  "  tell  me  what  you 
mean." 

Tom  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  the  other.  It  was  a  deed  of  the  captain's  bed- 
stead, silver  candlesticks,  table  and  chairs,  which 
that  generous  youth  had  given  to  the  old  servitor 
as  a  parting  remrmbrance. 

*'  'Tis  Harry's  writing,"  cried  the  nobleman. 
"  'Tis  my  son's  handwriting." 

For  a  moment  strength  seemed  to  leave  hi.n  and 
he  fell  back  against  the  cushions  of  the  seat ;  where- 


m 


ij.iV 


"  Expectans  Equito  " 


249 


of 


upon  hi 


small. 


lis  companion,  a  smaii,  dry  old  man,  in 
twinkling  of  an  eye  produced  a  silver  flask.  But 
the  solicitous  hand  was  pushed  aside  without  apol- 
ogy ;  and  the  nobleman  stepped  from  the  coach  to 
the  cobblestones,  patted  old  Tom  on  the  back  and 
cried : 

"  If  you  would  have  this  riddle  read,  and  that 
rig^ht  speedily,  house  these  cattle,  an'  this  great, 
new-fangled  coach,  that  is  but  little  swifter  than 
a  plough,  and  bt:y  me  four  fresh  horses  with  sad- 
dles." 

Within  the  haU  hot  the  roblt  Earl  of  North- 
rend,  the  two  iu. '  ^jstilions  and  the  footman 
sprang  to  their  savki(es  and  rode  away.  The  dry, 
little  old  gentleman,  who  gave  his  name  as  Mr. 
Crinklethrope,  was  left  behind,  with  the  coach  and 
road-weary  horses,  in  the  care  of  Tom  and  his  dame. 

"  Dang  it  all,  sir,"  cried  Tom,  as  he  brought  up 
some  wine  which  the  captain  had  left  behind,  and 
opened  it  for  his  new  guest,  —  "  it  do  beat  all  I've 
ever  see  in  eighty  years  come  Easter.  Here  be  two 
gentlemen  —  an'  one  an  eari  —  a-lookin'  for  their 
lost  sons.    An'  there  be  only  one  son." 

"  I  cannot  so  much  as  guess  at  what  the  viscount 
has  been  about."  remarked  Mr.  Crinklethrope. 
"  And  as  for  Captain  Love  -  w/hy,  surely  he  was 


4, 


■  IL  •  ' 


II. 


250 


Captain  Love 


able  to  take  care  of  himself,  even  in  London.  Dear 
me.  dear  me,  such  things  were  not  allowed  when 
I  was  young.  I  sincerely  hope  his  lordship  will  not 
forget  us  and  leave  me  to  die  of  homesickness  in 
this  roaring  town." 

Tom  poured  the  wine,  and  passed  the  glass  with 
a  bow, 

"  Have  no  fear,  sir,"  he  said,  absently.  "  Not 
even  a  duke  would  forget  they  fine  horses  an'  that 
there  great  coach." 

And  now  to  return  to  the  gentleman  whose  ad- 
ventures and  emotions  are  as  the  limbs  and  heart 
of  this  narrative.  With  his  past  before  him  (para- 
doxical as  it  may  sound)  he  pressed  eagerly  on  his 
journey.  He  bestrode  the  same  long-gaited  gray 
on  which  he  had  entered  London  —  the  beast  he 
had  taken  from  the  highwayman.  The  parson 
jogged  along  at  his  right  hand,  urging  his  fat  steed 
to  an  unusual  pace,  and  Chester  rode  heavily  on  the 
left.  David  Frunk  thumped  and  groaned  in  the 
rear,  complaining  of  the  frost  that  gnawed  at  his 
bones,  the  saddle  that  galled  him,  and  his  master's 
madness  that  depressed  his  soul. 

"  Tf  we  had  stayed  at  home,"  he  muttered,  "like 
enough  nothin'  would  hev  happened  to  Master  Jack. 
He'd  hev  come  home  sound  an'  hearty,  like  he's  done 


m 


"  Expectans  Equito  " 


251 


many  a  time  afore.  Them  as  rides  out  to  seek 
trouble  bes  sure  to  find  it.  An'  what's  to  become 
o'  Dodwater,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

The  mare  stumbled  slightly  and  the  jolt  of  her 
recovery  rattled  the  old  man's  jaws. 

"Dang  it,"  he  grumbled,  "if  Bess  herself  don't 
see  the  foolishness  of  it,  a-chasin'  off  to  God-knows- 
where  with  two  fellows  we  never  set  eyes  cwi  afore. 
They  be  both  robbers,  I  vum.  I  don't  trust  that 
young  chap  no  farther  nor  Bess  could  kick  'im.  The 
passon  always  were  mighty  soft  wi'  strangers." 

In  front,  the  three  gentlemen  rode  knee  to  knee, 
oblivious  to  David  Frunk's  complaints  and  insults. 
The  goofJ  parson  was  silent,  deep  in  gloomy  medi- 
tations. Saddle  and  spur  and  the  chances  of  the 
road  meant  nothing  to  him  now.  His  eyes  were 
blind  to  the  sights  that  had  filled  him  with  interest 
and  amazement  so  short  a  time  before.  He  did  not 
feel  the  cold.  He  took  no  heed  to  either  the  frozen 
way  beneath  his  horse's  hoofs  or  the  blue  sky  over- 
head. Twice  he  pulled  off  his  glove  and  looked  at 
the  ring  that  had  been  his  son's  and  which  his  son's 
friend  had  returned  to  him. 

"  Expectans  equito,"  he  read,  and  reflected  that 
his  long- forgotten  ancestor  had  voiced  the  secret  of 
mortal  life  in  those  two  words.    "  '  Waiting,  I  ride  ' 


IH 


in 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

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S"-S  f^ochester.    Ne»    '■of  U609        uSA 

''^  (.'16)    «82   -  0-500  -  Phone 

^S  (716)  288  -  "igee  -  tq- 


252 


Captain  Love 


..fr 


—  Ay,  and  though  the  body  may  tire  and  forsake 
the  quest,  the  heart  must  ever  spur  along  until  the 
last  road  be  travelled  and  the  last  adventure  accom- 
plished. And  the  last  adventure  is  death.  And 
then,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  waiting  and  riding  arc 
at  an  end." 

The  captain  had  a  glow  in  his  cheeks  and  eyes. 
His  pulses  leapt  with  high  expectations.  The  cold 
wind  was  sweet  in  his  nostrils,  and  the  frozen  world 
a  paradise  of  wonderful  possibilities  in  his  vision. 
Who  can  blame  him  if,  for  the  time,  both  the  par- 
son's sorrow  and  the  death  of  his  unremembered 
friend  were  forgotten?  The  youth  of  a  man  owes 
something  to  the  inevita'  e  fireside  days  to  come. 
If  he  walk  ever  as  a  mourner  when  his  boots  are  on 
his  feet  and  his  sword  at  his  side,  how  are  battles 
to  be  won  and  the  world's  work  accomplished,  and 
how  then  is  he  to  hearten  his  children's  children 
when  age  has  him  by  the  knees.  This  life  may  be 
but  one  stage  of  a  long  journey;  then  accomplish 
it  with  distinction  —  for  will  the  whole  be  any 
worse  if  a  part  of  it  be  well  done.  The  life  of  a 
rran  who  spends  liis  days  in  lamenting  the  futility 
of  this  world's  affairs  —  the  life  of  one  who  sits 
and  waits  —  is  not  worth  risking  for  a  friend  or 
a  cause.     He  who  lives  bravely  dies  bravely,  and 


"  Expectans  Equito  " 


253 


steps  into  the  Unknown  with  the  support  of  a  tested 
courage;  and  to  those  whom  he  leaves  behind  his 
memory  is  a  battle-cry  rather  than  a  lamentation. 

The  captain  rode  on,  with  youth  and  hope  afire 
in  his  veins.  His  misfortunes  were  forgotten.  He 
explained  his  unusual  position  to  Mr.  Chester,  ask- 
ing no  confidences  in  return.  Then  his  brain  busied 
itself  with  picturing  the  home-coming  —  for  he  en- 
tertained no  doubt  of  being  able  to  find  his  people 
—  and  his  eyes  were  alert  to  recognize  every  house 
and  clustered  village  that  he  had  noticed  on  his 
journey  from  Nullwood  Lower  Farm  to  London. 

Mr.  Chester  was  almost  as  quiet  as  the  parson. 
He  had  attached  himself  to  this  company  to  serve 
his  own  ends  and  partly  because  of  his  sudden 
liking  for  the  captain.  He  had  seen  that  their  af- 
fairs were  under  a  cloud  and  had  jumped  at  the 
conclusion  that  the  cloud  was  of  their  own  making. 
Such  was  the  natural  conclusion  for  one  of  Mr. 
Chester's  past  to  jump  at.  But  now,  finding  them 
to  be  honest  and  respectable  gentlemen,  —  the  par- 
son a  real  parson  and  the  captain  a  model  of  inno- 
cence, for  all  his  dash,  —  he  was  slightly  discon- 
certed. He  had  hoped  (for  even  a  guilty  conscience 
longs  for  the  company  of  its  kind)  to  learn  that  the 
young  man  had,  at  the  very  least,  fleeced  half  the 


■  I 

i  f 


1; 


I 


:*  I  ; 

•    i  •  ft 


» 

1! 


I 


li^ 


!.i„ 


254 


Captain  Love 


gentlemen  of  London  under  the  protection  of  a  well- 
considered  disguise,  and  that  the  old  man  had  played 
the  accomplice.  To  hear  that  they  were  guilty  of 
nothing  save  misfortunes  made  his  own  case  appear 
unusually  hopeless  and  black  in  his  mind's  eye.  His 
crimes  were  real  crimes.  He  had  sinned  against 
the  laws  of  God  and  man ;  and  though  he  had  per- 
formed a  few  brave  and  generous  actions  during  his 
career,  how  were  they  to  counterbalance  the  cruel 
and  the  dishonest  in  the  scales  of  even  that  most 
merciful  of  all  judges?  If,  instead  of  riding  with 
two  honest  gentlemen  on  an  honest  quest,  he  were 
now  hanging  by  his  neck,  'twould  be  no  more  than 
his  due.  He  had  taken  toll  of  the  high  seas  and 
the  queen's  highway,  and  not  always  in  the  gentlest 
manner.  He  had  disgraced  a  good  name  of  his  own 
and  many  a  name  to  which  he  had  taken  a  whim. 
Well,  this  one  of  Chester  was  new  to  him  at  any 
rate,  and  he  would  see  how  clean  he  could  keep  it. 
But  'tis  little  wonder  that  his  mood  was  dark  and 
bitter,  and  that  he  looked  forward  to  a  prolonged 
association  with  his  present  companions  with  pangs 
of  apprehension  and  self-condemnation. 

The  travellers  kept  their  horses  to  so  smart  a  pace 
that,  a  few  hours  after  sunset,  they  arrived  at  Null- 
wood  Lower  Farm. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 


A    BUSY   NIGHT 

Snow  was  beginning  to  fall  in  soft,  whirling 
flakes  when  the  four  riders  drew  rein  close  to  the 
farmhouse  door.  Mr.  Chester  leaned  forward  and 
thumped  the  panel  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  A 
lattice  opened  above  the  group,  and  a  metallic  click 
caused  David  Fru.nk  to  slide  from  his  saddle  and 
crawl  under  the  belly  of  his  mare. 

"  Ye'll  get  nothin'  here,  me  fine  lads,"  said  the 
voice  of  Farmer  Holt  from  the  upper  darkness, 
"  unless  ye  be  after  what  a  spark  from  this  flint 
will  give  ye.  Now  be  off  about  yer  business, 
double-quick.  This  here  blunderbuss  be  loaded  like 
a  cannon,  an'  if  \e  wants  three  pewter  spoons  an' 
all  the  buttons  off  me  Sunday  coat  in  yer  carcas  ;s, 
jes'  bide  where  ye  be  until  I  takes  a  fair  squint  an' 
pulls  the  trigger." 

"  Stay  your  hand,  good  fellow,"  cried  the  cap- 
tain. "  We  are  honest  travellers  seeking  a  night's 
lodging." 

266 


11 


>!   ! 


.1 


,r 


i' 


I       : 


I  r 


.  I" 


i  !: 


256 


'aptain  Love 


The  farmer  chuckled. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,"  he  replied,  "  but  if  ye  don't 
move  on  there'll  surely  be  one  or  two  honest  trav- 
ellers the  less  —  an'  this  road  a  deal  safer  to  ride 
along,  I'll  swear." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  the  parson,  "  I  cannot 
believe  you  to  be  as  heartless  as  you  sound." 

"  Master  Holt,"  cried  the  captain,  fearing  that 
the  yeoman  might  pull  the  trigger  to  end  the  argu- 
ment, "  if  you  don't  let  us  in  you'll  not  get  the 
hundred  pounds  I  owe  you." 

This  seemed  to  tickle  the  worthy  householder's 
sense  of  humour. 

"  Ay,"  said  he,  "  a  hunder  pounds  with  a  cudgel. 
I  learned  that  fable  when  I  were  a  toddler." 

"  Nay,  in  honest  gold,"  replied  the  captain. 

"  Then  what  be  yer  name  ?  "  asked  the  farmer, 
leaning  from  the  window. 

"  I've  not  found  it  yet,"  said  the  other,  quietly, 
"  but,  s  I'm  on  the  fair  road  to  it,  I'll  pay  you  the 
hundred  pounds  even  now." 

"  Be  ye  truly  that  young  gentleman  I  picked  out 
o'  the  ditch?" 

"  Ay,  truly,  good  William." 

"  An'  ye  hasn't  learned  yer  name  yet  ?  " 

"  Nay,  good  friend." 


A  Busy  Night 


257 


"  Then  how'd  ye  come  by  ihe  money  ?  Has  ye 
turned  highw^'yman  ?  " 

"Enough,  fellow,"  cried  the  captain.  "Come 
down  and  open  the  door  or  I'll  jump  my  horse 
through  the  thatch." 

Holt  was  impressed. 

"  But  I'll  make  so  bold  as  to  bring  me  blunder- 
bust  down  with  me,"  he  said,  as  he  withdrew  from 
the  window  of  the  loft. 

The  snow  fell  thick  and  fast,  draping  the  clus- 
tered horsemen  in  white.  David  Frunk,  reassured, 
stood  at  his  mare's  head  and  swore  he'd  never  been 
so  disrespectfully  treated  before  in  all  his  long  life. 
The  captain  dismounted  and  bent  his  ear  to  the 
door.  He  heard  what  sounded  like  the  dragging 
about  of  a  heavy  piece  of  furniture  far  back  in  the 
room.  Then  footsteps  advanced  cautiously  and  a 
bolt  was  softly  withdrawn.  The  footsteps  retreated 
with  less  caution  and  more  haste.  Then,  "Open 
the  door,"  shouted  the  farmer  from  within. 

"  Have  a  care,  lad."  whispered  the  parson,  trying 
to  force  himself  in  front  of  the  captain ;  but  the 
captain  pushed  the  old  man  gently  out  of  the  way 
of  possible  danger,  kicked  open  the  door  and  stepped 
across  the  threshold. 

The  only  light  in  the  low-ceilinged  kitchen  came 


I 


^1 


if 

ii 


258 


Captain  Love 


^  I 


m 


n 


from  a  tallow  dip  which  had  been  placed  on  a  stool 
close  to  the  door.  The  captain  paused,  glancing 
uneasily  from  one  shadowy  corner  to  another. 

"  I  be  here  behind  the  settle,"  said  the  voice  of 
William  Holt,  "  with  me  blunderbust  pointed  fair 
at  yer  honour's  head.  I  don't  mean  to  be  un- 
friendly, sir,  but  I  owes  it  to  me  wife  an'  darter 
to  be  a  trifle  forehanded  in  the  matter  o'  caution. 
One  at  a  time  is  all  I  ax  —  an'  each  gentleman  to 
hold  the  glim  to  his  face,  so  as  I  can  take  a  squint 
at  im. 

"  'Tis  a  low  way  to  treat  an  old  friend,  William," 
said  the  young  man,  good-naturedly. 

For  a  second  he  gazed  over  at  the  bulky  settle; 
then,  lifting  the  candlestick  to  a  level  with  his  face, 
he  removed  his  hat.  The  light  fell  clearly  on  the 
fi"  rut  features  and  dark  eyes  framed  in  the  im- 
u.  riwig,  and  illumined  the  commanding  fig- 

m      ..le  great  cloak  and  high  boots,  and  the  gleam- 
ing sword-hilt. 

"  Set  down  the  light,  yer  honour,  an*  step  right 
in,"  cried  William  Holt.  "  Dang  me  eyes,  yer  lord- 
ship, but  I  were  only  jokin',  an'  I  pray  ye  to  forgive 
me.  Ho!  ho!  but  that  were  a  fine  story  T  telled  ye 
about  the  blunderbust.  Why,  yer  honour,  I'd  as  lief 
shoot  at  me  gran'mother,  if  she  weren't  already 


A  Busy  Night 


259 


dead,  as  p'int  a  weepin  at  yer  lordship."  He  ap- 
peared from  behind  the  settle,  empty-handed  and 
insufficiently  attired.  "  I'll  set  the  women  to  gettin' 
supper  for  yer  honours,"  he  continued,  "  an'  then 
I'll  stable  the  horses." 

The  dame  and  her  daughter  soon  bustled  about 
the  room,  and  the  four  travellers,  with  cloaks  and 
hats  laid  aside,  warmed  themselves  at  the  newly 
lighted  fire.  Holt,  in  garments  hastily  donned,  went 
out  to  attend  to  the  horses. 

The  women  were  too  flustered,  what  with  pride, 
astonishment  and  consternation  at  thought  of  the 
late  reception,  to  address  anything  but  curtsies  to 
the  company.  Could  the  wonderful  gentleman  in 
the  beautiful  clothes,  who  smiled  upon  them  so  en- 
gagingly while  he  warmed  his  back  at  the  fire,  be 
the  poor  young  man  whom  they  had  nursed  and  fed 
and  watched  depart  in  a  labourer's  smock?  The 
idea  was  overpowering.  The  dame  remembered 
certain  freedoms  of  speech  and  the  girl  certain 
dreams,  with  consternation.  The  gentleman  must 
be  a  duke  at  least.  To  hide  their  embarrassment, 
they  piled  and  piled  the  table  with  the  contents  of 
larder  and  cellar. 

Suddenly  the  young  man  stepped  ov     to  the  set- 
tle and  produced  the  farmer's  blunderbuss. 


i 


I    i 


260 


Captain  Love 


I 


"  I'll  just  put  a  new  load  in  this,"  said  he,  ad- 
vancing to  an  end  of  the  table  that  was  not  entirely 
covered  by  food. 

The  women  and  his  companions  watched  him  in 
silence  as  he  thrust  a  knife  down  the  bell-mouth  of 
the  ponderous  weapon.  A  wad  of  paper  was  soon 
extracted.  Turning  the  gun  muzzle  down,  he 
thumped  it  on  the  board  until  the  pewter  spoons, 
hammerf^d  into  slugs,  and  the  brass  buttons,  made 
their  appearance.  Then,  taking  two  neat  bags  of 
canvas  from  under  his  coat,  he  cut  them  open  and 
quickly  poured  their  contents  into  the  brass  muzzle, 
and  rammed  home  the  wad  of  paper.  He  had 
scarce  finished  this  curious  performance  when  the 
farmer  returned  from  his  task  with  the  horses. 

The  yeoman  changed  colour  when  he  saw  the 
blunderbuFS  in  the  gentleman's  hands. 

"  William,"  said  the  captain,  sternly.  "  I'm  sorry 
to  discover  you  in  a  He;  for  what  were  you  doing 
with  this  great  piece  of  artillery  behind  the  settle, 
if  not  pointing  it  at  me?  " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  cried  the  farmer,  "  the  times  be  that 
hard  a  poor  man  couldn't  live  a  day  without  he 
lied  now  an'  then." 

"  My  friend."  r-nlied  the  other,  "  your  greatest 
failing,  I  am  convinced,  is  a  lack  of  trust  in  your 


A  Busy  Night 


261 


fellow  man.  You  were  doubtful  of  my  honesty 
to-night  until  you  saw  the  excellent  quality  of  my 
wig  and  coat.  You  doubted  my  word  when  I  rode 
away  from  you  last  summer.  Now  what  will  you 
say  when  I  tell  you  that  T  do  not  happen  to  have 
the  hundred  pounds  I  promised  v  'U  in  any  of  my 
pockets  ?  " 

"Why,  yer  lordship,"  said  Holt,  "I'll  not  say 
a  word  o'  objection  if  ye'll  but  leave  me  yer  pistols 
for  a  sign  o'  good  faith.  Ay,  sir,  yer  word  be  good 
enough  for  me." 

"My  pistols!"  cried  the  gentleman,  in  well- 
feigned  anger.  "Fellow,  they  are  the  best  that 
ever  were  made  in  London.  Would  you  ask  for 
my  pistols  and  let  me  go  unarmed  at  the  risk  of  mv 
life?  Maybe  you'd  like  my  wig  and  my  hat  also, 
Master  Insolence." 

Every  one  but  the  farmer  stared  ir  -nazement 
at  the  ca  tain.  T^nit,  r  Hous  soul,  v-.'s  torn  be- 
tween ],is  greed  and  i  feai  that  he  might  mor- 
tally offend  this  fme  $ru<.st.  The  gentleman  had 
surely  joked  when  he  '  nutsK  -.  that  he  had  not 
yet  come  to  his  own.  a  man  be  nameless 

and  without  estate,  anti  attired  like  that  an- 

cient Scriptural  king  in      '  his  glory?     Nay,  he 
could  not  believe  it. 


262 


Captain  Love 


^1) 


*    ! 


"  Noble  sir,"  he  whined,  "  though  I  be  a  poor 
man  an'  migliiily  in  need  o'  money,  I  swear  I  were 
only  jokin'  when  I  axed  ye  to  leave  me  the  pretty 
pistols." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  the  captain.  "  Jow  let 
us  get  to  table." 

Mr.  Chester,  with  a  diffidence  that  did  not  tally 
with  his  appearance,  made  as  if  to  seat  himself  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  board,  with  David  Frunk; 
but  the  parson  and  the  captain  clutched  him,  each 
by  an  elbow,  at  the  same  moment.  So  he  lifted  his 
great  sabre  to  his  knees  and  squatted  on  a  Stool 
between  them.  The  farmer,  with  something  of  his 
old  self-assurance  returned  to  him,  sat  down  oppo- 
site the  gentlemen,  urged  them  to  eat  and  drink,  set 
them  an  example  to  follow  in  both  perfoimancca, 
and  praised  the  dishes  and  the  home-brewed  r  if 
he  were  a  guest. 

The  company  had  been  about  twenty  initriites  at 
table,  when  a  sudden  clatter  on  the  '".ter  door 
brought  every  man  to  his  feet 

"  Open  to  his  lordship  the  Earl  of  Northrend," 
cried  a  voice. 

The  farmer  grabbed  up  his  blunderbuss. 

"  All  me  fine  friends  are  visitin'  me  to-night," 


m 


A  Busy  Niglit 


263 


he  said,  grinr>ng;  then  he  roared:  "  YeVe  a  won- 
derful con-imon  sowr.diii*  voice  for  a  earl,  me  lad." 

"I  be  his  lordship's  coachman,"  shouted  back 
the  unseen  traveller.  "  Come,  pull  back  your  bolt 
or  ye'll  find  your  cabin  about  your  ears." 

The  farmer  swore  and  raised  his  great  forearm 
o  his  shoulder,  presenting  the  bell-mouthed  muzzle 
at  the  door.  The  captain  sprang  forward  and  seized 
his  wrist. 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  cried.  "D'ye  take  every 
one  who  comes  to  your  door  for  a  robber  ?  " 

"  More  likely  a  robber  nor  a  earl,"  growled  the 
farmer. 

Without  further  argument  the  captain  wrenched 
the  gun  from  his  hands  and  stood  it  against  the 
wall.  At  the  same  moment  Mr.  Chester  advanced 
boldly  and  unfastened  and  opened  the  door.  An 
eddy  of  damp  snowflakes  blew  into  the  room.  The 
man  at  the  threshold  —  a  great  fellow  in  livery  — 
glanced  quickly  around  the  kitchen  and  withdrew. 
Immediately  a  tall  gentleman  fair'  encased  in  the 
clinging  -vhite  of  the  storm  ente'-.-d  and  confronted 
the  farmer,  Chester  having  retired  to  the  her-"i. 
He  removed  his  hat,  shook  it  free  of  i  burden  of 
snow,  and  returned  it  to  his  head. 


! 


fl 


tin..  . 


II 


f    i  ; 


i 


264 


Captain  Love 


"  Sirrah,"  he  cried,  "  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
being  kept  on  the  cold  side  of  any  man's  door." 

Catching  sight  of  the  farmer's  dame,  he  again 
doffed  his  hat,  and,  this  time,  bowed  gravely. 

The  dame  bobbed  an  unsteady  curtsey. 

"  You  must  teach  your  guo<\  man  better  manners, 
my  dear,"  said  Lord  Northrend.  He  turned  to  the 
open  door. 

"  Juggins,  bring  in  the  wounded  robber,"  he  or- 
dered, "  and  let  the  others  attend  to  the  horses." 

At  that  the  big  fellow  in  livery  entered  the  room, 
carrying  a  full-grown  man,  in  boots  and  spurs,  in 
his  arms. 

Holt's  anger  got  the  better  of  his  discretion. 

"This  hain't  no  tavern,"  he  cried.  "  It  be  a 
private  farmhouse." 

"  No  tavern,  say  you,"  exclaimed  the  earl. 
"  Then  how  comes  it  you  keep  such  genteel  com- 
pany ?  " 

He  looked  at  Mr.  Chester.  With  a  slight  start 
he  turner'  and  eyed  the  parson.  He  started  for- 
ward, as  if  seeking  some  one,  and  his  glance  found 
out  the  captain,  who  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of 
the  chimney. 

"  Harry."  he  cried.    "  My  God.  is  it  Harry?" 

And  there  he  stood,  his  haughty  face  suddenly 


A  Busy  Night 


265 


melted  to  tenderness,  his  eyes  gleaming,  his  hands 
outstretched  and  trembling. 

The  captain  moved  forward  one  hesitating  step, 
his  eyes  on  the  other's  eyes,  his  cheeks  and  lips 
gray  as  the  ashes  on  the  hearth.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but  no  sound  came  from  him.  The  earl's  expres- 
sion changed.  Fear,  anger  and  pain  moved,  like 
shadows,  across  his  eager  visage. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  cried,  huskily. 
"  Harry,  Harry,  are  you  ashamed  to  welcome 
me?" 

The  captain  pressed  his  hand  to  his  side. 

"Are  you  my  father?"  he  whispered.  "Dear 
God,  I  cannot  remember." 

Then,  with  a  faint  cry,  he  reeled  and  fell  into 
the  parson's  ready  arms. 

In  an  instant  the  kitchen  became  a  scene  of  con- 
fusion. The  women  and  Lord  Northrend's  coach- 
man dashed  away  for  water,  —  the  women  to  an- 
other room,  the  coachman  out  to  a  well  before  the 
door.  The  earl  and  the  parson  bent  over  the  un- 
conscious youth,  one  unfastening  the  collar  of  his 
riding-coat,  the  other  chafing  the  limp  hands. 

"The  poor,  poor  lad."  babbled  the  parson. 
"Ah.  my  lord,  you  were  too  sudden  with  him  — 
too  sharp  with  him." 


;' 

I 


<  !t 


^    ; 


t 

r 

id 

m 

ill*' 
\     It 

■a 


it 


I 


mi 


266 


Captain  Love 


"  God  knows  I  meant  no  harm,  sir,"  replied  the 
earl,  humbly.  And  then :  "  I'm  blind !  I'm  a  fool ! 
I  do  not  understand,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  broken 
whisper. 

By  the  door,  on  a  low  stool,  sat  the  wounded 
highwayman  whom  the  coachman  had  carried  into 
the  room.  His  hands  were  tied.  A  bullet  had 
broken  his  leg.    Mr.  Chester  stood  near  him. 

"  7*Ji,  Bill,"  said  the  prisoner,  "  ye've  fared  bet- 
ter nor  me." 

"  Not  so  loud,"  whispered  Chester.  He  stooped 
close  to  the  other. 

"  Did  you  try  to  stop  the  earl  and  his  party  ?  " 
he  asked. 

The  robber  nodded. 

"  I  thought  you  were  living  honestly,"  said 
Chester. 

"  I  tried  to,"  replied  the  fellow.  "  I  had  a  little 
farm  in  Kent;  but  I  got  into  trouble  with  the 
squire,  an'  the  lawyers  skinned  me.  I've  seen  pi- 
rates on  land  an'  at  sea,  Bill,  but  never  such  pirates 
as  they  danged  lawyers." 

"  Guard  your  tongue,  lad,  and  I'll  get  you  clear," 
whispered  Chester,  and  opened  the  door  to  admit 
the  coachman  with  a  bucket  of  water,  followed  by 
two  more  of  his  lordship's  servants. 


'J 


A  Busy  Night 


267 


The  captain  opened  his  eyes  full  upon  the  tender 
and  apprehensive  face  of  the  earl. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  whispered.  "  My  heart 
remembers." 

"  Ah,  if  your  heart  remembers,"  replied  North- 
rend,  softly;  and,  stooping,  he  pressed  his  lips  to 
his  son's  forehead. 


I.       >■■  )}  ■. 


CHAPTER    XXV 
MR.  Chester's  change  of  plans 

At  last  the  farmhouse  sank  to  an  outer  sem- 
blance of  repose.  The  fanner  and  his  wife  and 
daughter  ascended  to  the  upper  floor.  The  Earl 
of  Northrend,  Viscount  Verton  a^.a  Parson  Love 
retired  to  the  gruest-chamber,  —  the  v»»rj'  room  in 
which  the  viscount,  months  before,  had  been 
nursed  back  to  life  and  consciousness.  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, David  Frunk,  and  the  wounded  highwayman 
wrapped  themselves  in  their  cloaks  and  lay  down 
by  the  kitchen  hearth.  The  earl's  servants  sought 
repose  in  a  snug  room  above  the  granary. 

There  was  so  much  to  tell  and  hear  —  so  much 
of  pity  and  joy  and  wonder  to  shake  the  heart  — 
that  the  gentlemen  in  the  guest-chambc"  kept 
awake  until  long  past  midnight.  The  parson,  brave 
.soul,  had  begun  to  tell  Harry's  stor\-.  to  save  the 
hero  from  the  exertion.  In  the  middle  of  it  North- 
rend  had  clutched  the  old  gentleman's  hands  in  his 
and  had  begged  him  to  go  no  further. 
^  268 


'^^% 


.     •«*« 


Mr.  Chester's  Change  of  Plans     269 


"  You  have  already  paid  the  price  of  our  joy," 
he  said,  gently. 

"  And  for  that,  I  share  it  with  you,"  replied  the 
parson;  but  tears  blinded  him  then,  and  he  turned 
aside  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

The  viscount  told  of  many  of  his  adventures  and 
misadventures  to  his  father,  but  said  nothing  of 
Dorothy  Petre.  He  asked  a  hundred  questions  of 
his  home,  of  his  mother,  of  his  past  life,  of  the 
dead  friend  with  whom  he  had  set  out  for  London 
—  and  the  earl  answered  them  all. 

"But  you  ask  nothing  of  Julia,"  said  North- 
rend. 

"Of  Julia?"  queried  the  youth,  wrinkling  his 
brow.    "  Then  have  I  a  sister,  sir?  " 

"Can  it  be?"  exclaimed  the  earl.  "Can  it  be 
that  even  Julia  is  forgotten  ?  " 

"  Is  it  that  the  fever  covered  my  memvtry  over, 
as  if  with  a  film,"  pondered  the  viscount,  "or  is 
it  wiped  entirely  away?  I  have  not  lost  my  schol- 
arship —  and  much  trivial  knowledge  has  remained 
with  me."  Then,  speaking :  "  But  why,  sir,  do 
Du  expect  me  to  remember  this  lady  — this  Julia 
—  when  your  face  was  lost  to  me,  and  the  face  of 
my  mother,  and  the  face  of  my  comrade  ?  " 

The  earl  smiled. 


i^ 


270 


Captain  Love 


;  , 


, 


M 


i   i 


""■^  U 


iv 
,  f 
\l 

It 

M 

Hi 


"  Might  not  the  heart  hold  a  picture,  though  it 
were  broken  in  the  mind  ?  "  he  asked,  softly. 

"  Nay,"  began  the  youth,  then  hesitated. 

"Who  is  she?"  he  whispered,  "that  my  heart 
should  hold  her  face  and  forget  those  of  my  par- 
ents?" 

"  Who  is  Julia,"  replied  the  father,  as  if  he 
could  scarce  believe  the  sincerity  of  such  a  ques- 
tion. "Who  is  Julia?  Why,  Harry,  she  is  my 
ward  —  my  old  friend's  daughter.  There  was  a 
time,  lad,  —  ah,  you  wer^-  writing  vastly  pretty 
rhymes  to  this  same  Julia  not  long  ago." 

"Rhymes!"  said  the  viscount,  blushing.  "  .\h, 
sir.  I  think  my  rhymes  are  scarcely  to  be  depended 
upon.  I  made  a  whole  book  of  them  in  London 
—  and,  alas,  I  promised  the  printers  another  vol- 
ume." 

The  other's  thoughts  were  still  on  the  past. 

"  It  seemed  no  callow  loving  to  us,"  he  said. 
**  She  was  the  toast  of  the  county  —  ay,  and  had 
seen  London  —  and  you  had  travelled  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Then,  I  think,  something  went  amiss. 
She  lost  colour  and  you  set  out  for  London  with 
poor  Jack." 

"  I  cannot  remember,"  said  the  viscount,  with 
his  head  in  his  hands. 


Mr.  Chester's  Change  of  Plans      271 

In    the    kitchen    David    Frunk    slept    soundly, 
though  his  couch  was  the  floor.    Ht  could  not  have 
snored  with  more  abandonment  of  repose  had  he 
been  snug  in  Holt's  own  feather  bed.    Mr.  Chester 
lay  very  still  for  a  long  time,  thinking  hard.  Would 
a  man  be  wise  in  changing  his  mode  of  life  too 
suddenly  — in  flying  completely  from  one  extreme 
to  another?     Had  he  not  better  mend  his  ways 
gradually,  testing  each  step  and  mastering  each 
degree  of  virtue,  so  that,  in  the  end,  he  could  un- 
dertake  the   responsibilities   ot    honest  citizenship 
with  assurance,  with  such  an  appreciation  of  his 
position  as  a  colonel  must  have  who  has  risen  from 
the  ranks?    The  idea  pleased  him;  and  he  decided 
that,  as  for  two  years  he  had  shed  no  blood,  so, 
for  a  certain  period,  he  would  take  toll  from  none 
but  the  rich  —  and  that  in  the  most  gentle  manner. 
During  the  next  stage  of  improvement  he  would 
confine  himself  to  the  practice  of  law,  for  which 
his  youthful   studies   had  qualified   him;    and.   in 
time,  he  would  retire  to  private  life  with  a  com- 
petency. 

David  Trunk's  snoring  had  become  as  inevitable 
as  the  roar  of  surf  on  a  reef,  when  Chester  at  last 
crawled  over  to  the  wounded  highwayman.  After 
a  whispered  consultation,  they  crept  to  the  door. 


n«« 


272 


Captain  Love 


f 


with  their  boots  in  their  hands.  The  robber  went 
at  a  snail's  pace,  his  face  twisted  with  pain.  At 
the  door,  Chester  paused,  returned  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  and,  leaning  across  David  Frunk, 
possessed  himself  of  Farmer  Holt's  blunderbuss. 
A  puzzled  query  at  the  threshold  —  a  sage  wag  of 
Qiester'  head  for  reply ;  then  a  sudden  icy  breath 
across  the  room,  a  soft  thud  of  wood  on  wood, 
and  David  Frunk  snored  on,  alone,  in  the  kitchen. 

Snow  lay  deep  on  the  ground,  but  the  sky  was 
clear. 

"  Hold  the  gun,"  said  Chester  to  Bill,  after  the 
two  had  drawn  on  their  boots.  Then  he  lifted  his 
comrade  in  his  arms,  blunderSuss  and  all,  and  car- 
ried him  across  the  yard  to  the  stables.  Ten  min- 
utes later,  two  cloaked  figures,  mounted  on  horses 
that  made  no  noise  in  the  snow,  passed  softly  be- 
hind the  ricks  and  outbuildings  and  headed  across 
country. 

There  was  a  great  outcry  in  the  morning  when 
Farmer  Holt,  early  astir,  made  the  discovery  that 
Mr.  Chester  and  the  wounded  highwayman  were 
gone,  and  with  them  the  robber's  steed  and  a  fine 
bay  gelding  of  the  farmer's  own  breeding. 

"Dang  my  eyes."  he  cried,  "but  there  was  a 
rare  fine  gentleman,  for  sure,  a-ridin'  with  dooks 


wm^ 


Mr.  Chester's  Change  of  Plans     273 

an'  parsons.  Why  didn't  he  take  the  horse  he 
come  on,  I'd  hke  to  know?  " 

He  rolled  a  suspicious  eye  on  the  earl's  coach- 
man. 

"  I  smells  the  reason  of  it."  he  cried "  the 

reason  for  that  fine,  black-faced  pirate  o'  a  gen- 
tleman to  ride  away  on  my  pretty  gelding  an'  leave 
his  own  old  screw  behind." 

"An'  what  be  that  reason,  master?"  inquired 
the  earl's  coachman. 

"  Ye  all  be  fine  play  actors,"  replied  Holt  furi- 
ously,  "an'  I,  for  one.  don't  believe  ye  have  a 
honest  man  nor  a  gentleman  among  ye.  Where 
be  the  hunder  pounds  that  there  young  cock  prom- 
ised me?  An'  where  be  my  pretty  geldin',  an'  him 
out  o'  Queen  Sheebee  by  Dook  o'  York?  " 

"  Ye've  a  low,  suspicious  mind,  Master  What's- 
yer-name,"  replied  the  coachman;  and,  catching 
up  a  stirrup  leather  from  the  floor,  he  warmed  the 
farmer's  hide  until  the  roars  of  that  narrow- 
minded  rustic  awoke  the  household. 

The  footman  and  the  postilion  were  the  first 
to  reach  the  scene  of  action ;  but  they  had  scarce 
settled  themselves  on  the  edge  of  a  manger  to  en- 
joy the  entertainment  in  comfort,  when  Mistress 
Holt  dashed  through  the  doorway.    For  a  moment 


274 


.  '^ 

m:  ' 

f  >  hn-' 

t 

i 

1 

^ 

i 

hKI 

;     j 

Hi 

'■; 

™; 

y  ■ 

Captain  Love 


she  stared  in  dismay.  Then  she  cried,  "  Willyum 
Holt,  what  d'ye  mean  by  gettin'  into  trouble  with 
the  nobleman's  gentleman,  when  ye  be  dressed  in 
your  best  shirt  an'  breeches  ?  An'  were  ye  a-goin' 
to  milk  they  cows  in  them  clothes?" 

The  coachman  threw  down  the  strap  and  with- 
drew his  hand  from  the  gaffer's  collar. 

"  I  hope  I've  not  spoiled  his  fine  clothin',  dame," 
he  said. 

At  that  moment  the  earl,  the  viscount  and  the 
parson  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  What  is  the  trouble?  "  inquired  the  earl. 
"This  fellow  named  your  lordship  for  a  high- 
wayman, your  lordship,"  replied  the  coachman. 

"And  did  you  beat  him,  Hipshaw,  while  his 
wife  was  looking  on?"  cried  Northrend. 

"  Nay,  sir.  She  but  just  come  in,"  answered  the 
servant. 

Holt  gave  an  account  of  the  theft  and  the  escape ; 
and  though  he  guarded  his  tongue,  it  was  evident 
that  he  still  suspected  the  honesty  of  his  guests. 

"  Here  are  ten  guineas  to  pay  you  for  the  loss 
of  your  gelding,"  said  the  earl,  counting  the  golden 
coins  into  the  fellow's  hand.  He  was  in  far  too 
thankful  a  frame  of  mind  to  take  exception  to  so 
small  a  matter  as  the  farmer's  persistent  rudeness. 


Mr.  Chester's  Change  of  Plans        75 


"  And  the  money  I  promised  you,  good  Willi  m, 
is  in  your  old  blunderbuss,"  said  the  viscount.  '  I 
put  it  there  last  night,  intending  to  play  a  harmle  ^s 
joke  on  you." 

The  farmer's  jaw  fell  and  his  eyes  protruded. 

"  An'  that's  stele,  too,  along  with  me  pretty 
gelding,"  he  cried  —  "  an'  here  I  be  bf  a  lather 

into  the  bargain." 

The  earl  tossed  him  a  full  purse  turned 

away. 

The  parson  nudged  the  viscount. 

"  Was  it  money  you  poured  ii  the  great 
gun  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Harry.  "And  1  uti  gl^d  the 
poor  devils  took  it."  he  added. 

The  parson  nodded  reflectively. 

"  And    may   God    turn   them    irom  -^vtl 

ways,"  he  murmured. 


t  i 


CHAPTER   XXVI 


JUUA 


Parson  Love  refused  to  continue  the  journey 
along  the  road  to  Northumberland.  He  had  served 
his  dead  son's  friend  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power; 
and  now  his  duties  at  Dodwater,  and  the  familiar 
faces  of  his  own  people,  called  to  him.  He  longed 
for  his  narrow  study,  with  its  dusty  books  and 
shabby  chair;  for  the  little  church,  and  for  the 
Sunday  afternoons  of  quiet  companionship  with 
his  brother-in-law,  the  squire.  They  would  narrate 
(as  they  had  been  doing  these  many  years)  kindly 
and  tender  anecdotes  of  mutual  friends  and  rr'a- 
tives  whom  death  had  taken ;  but  now,  in  addition, 
there  would  be  little  stories  of  Jack  to  tell  and  nod 
over  —  of  his  first  ride  to  hounds,  of  his  first  scars 
won  in  battle.  And  thus,  by  two  old  gentlemen 
seated  in  the  midst  of  their  dreams  and  faith  and 
kindly  memories,  death  would  .seem  no  more  than 
a  present  separation,  to  be  mended,  all  in  God's 
good  time,  by  a  short  and  easy  journey. 

276 


If 


lurm- 


Julia 

So  the  Reverend  John  Love  bade 
farewell  and.  with  the  faithful  but 
David,  started  back  towards  London, 
would  meet  the  s(|uire,  by  appointment ; 
home  to  Dodwa'er.  And  not  a  twinge 
the  earl's  joy  assailc(.  that  brave  old 
yet  a  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  the  mercy 
kindness  of  the  Go^'  whom  he  served. 


277 

his   friends 

bewildered 

There  he 

and  thence 

of  envy  for 

heart  —  nor 

and  loving- 


North,  party  pressed   forward,  keeping  to 

their  sada   "  all  day  and   passing  each  night  in 
whatever  house  or  inn  lay  nearest  to  hand  at  sunset. 

It  was  on  a  Sunday  morning  that  they  st""  ted 
the  quiet  village,  by  way  of  muddy  lanes,  and  won 
to  the  great  park.  The  viscount  looked  alx>ut  him 
with  eager  eyes.  He  contemplated  the  ranked 
oaks  and  clustered  firs,  the  sturdy  green  of  holly 
in  the  underbrusli  and  the  tiappled  sides  of  the 
deer  in  the  coverts  —  and  tears  dimmed  his  sight. 

"  I  can  remember  none  of  it."  he  whispered  to 
his  father. 

For  answer,  the  earl  put  out  his  hand  and  patted 
the  knee  so  close  to  his  own,  for  they  rode  stirrup 
to  stirrup. 

The  weather  had  softened,  and  sodden  leaves 
lay   bar"    ^  ■•d^'rfoot,   and    a    whisper   of   trickling 


Captain  Love 


waters  sounded  from  the  timber  on  either  side  of 
the  way.  Small,  sombre-hued  birds  chirped  and 
flitted  through  the  high  tracery  of  branches.  At 
last  they  came  in  sight  of  a  wing  of  the  great 
house.  With  every  step,  the  woods  receded  from 
either  hand  and  the  view  widened,  and  presently 
they  saw  the  whole  of  that  noble  and  time-stained 
mansion,  set  commandingly  above  its  terraced  gar- 
dens. At  that  the  earl  again  leaned  from  his  saddle 
and  put  out  his  hand.  There  were  tears  in  his 
eyes,  so  strange  are  the  ways  of  the  emotions. 
Welcome  home,  lad,"  he  said. 

At  the  base  of  the  lower  terrace  the  road  swept 
around  on  either  side;  but  the  home-comers,  with 
the  two  gentlemen  ahead,  urged  their  horses 
straight  up  the  slope  of  sward.  Harry's  eyes  were 
on  the  house  above.  He  saw  nothing  of  the  sculp- 
tured nymphs  past  which  he  rode.  He  gave  no 
heed  to  the  borders  of  rare  shrubs  scarred  by  the 
hoofs  of  his  gray. 

A  groom  appeared  at  the  northern  corner  of  the 
house,  stared  a  second,  and  then  shouted  and  tossed 
his  hat  in  the  air.  A  bell  clanged  crazily  from 
somewhere  out  of  sight.  The  great  doors  flew 
open,  and  a  fat  old  man  in  livery  waved  his  arms 


■^■nHnl*        -ATjrkf^HM^B'H 


Julia 


279 


frantically  from  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  then 
skipped  back  into  the  shadowy  mouth  of  the  hall. 
It  seemed  to  the  viscount  that  all  the  world  held 
its  breath  for  the  time  it  took  him  to  spur  up  the 
slope  of  the  second  terrace.  He  was  conscious  of 
his  father's  great  roan  close  at  his  knee,  and  of 
dogs  leaping  and  yelping  on  all  sides;  but  eyes, 
heart  and  mind  were  intent  on  the  open  doorway 
of  the  great  house.  What  of  his  lost  past  would 
come  through  that  wide  portal,  to  claim  and  to  be 
claimed  —  perhaps  to  touch  the  dead  memories  to 
life?  The  woman  who  had  brought  him  into  the 
world  —  the  gentle,  tender  woman  of  whose  very 
flesh  and  blood  he  was  —  would  appear,  and  surely 
his  heart  would  remember  and  leap  with  the  old 
love.  But  what  of  the  girl  ?  —  this  Julia  of  whom 
his  father  had  told  him?  He  thought  of  the  way 
his  heart  had  warmed,  so  lately,  to  the  baronet's 
sister  and  the  young  woman  whom  he  had  rescued 
from  the  den  of  murderers  —  and  of  how  swiftly 
those  infatuations  had  dimmed  and  vanished.  He 
recalled  the  heart-aches,  the  longings  and  regrets, 
the  fluttering  of  the  pulses,  inspired  by  the  beauty 
and  charms  of  these  ladies.  He  had  written  verses, 
with  sincerity  of  spirit  and  fair  art,  to  the  one, 


280 


Captain  Love 


in  I' 


and  had  risked  his  life  for  the  other.  True,  he 
would  risk  his  life  for  any  woman  —  so  that  was 
no  great  matter!  But  was  such  a  heart  as  his  to 
be  trusted  to  carry  a  love  —  even  a  great  love  — 
across  those  lost  years?  These  things  flashed 
through  his  mind  like  pictures,  quick  as  light,  even 
while  he  pulled  his  horse  to  a  standstill  at  the  top 
of  the  second  terrace.  Then  a  remembrance  of  the 
dream  jame  back  to  him,  and  the  doubt  fled. 

A  stirring  of  life  awoke  in  the  gloom  of  the  hall 
beyond  the  open  door,  and  into  view  darted  a  lady 
of  diminutive  stature,  in  sombre,  flying  skirts. 
The  small,  delicate  face  showed  the  havoc  of  recent 
grief,  but  was  now  alight  with  joy.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  hesitated  on  the  threshold;  then,  followed 
heavily  by  an  expostulating  old  dame  carrying  a 
pair  of  goloshes,  she  ran  down  the  steps  and  across 
the  wet  sod  in  her  silken  slippers.  The  ear?  nnd 
the  viscount  flung  themselves  from  their  saddles 
at  the  same  moment;  but  the  earl  was  the  first 
to  catch  the  small  lady  in  his  arms.  He  held  her 
close  and  whispered  in  her  ear ;  and,  next  moment, 
her  arms  were  around  her  son's  neck  and  her  small 
face  hidden  against  his  breast.  The  young  man 
clasped  her  to  him  and  bent  his  head  until  his  lips 
touched  her  hair. 


Julia 


281 


"  Mother  —  my  dear  little  mother,"  he  breathed. 

His  heart  was  sure  and  joyful ;  but  his  eyes  ^d 
his  mind  could  not  recall  even  so  much  as  a  hint 
of  ever  having  seen  this  little  lady  before.  Love 
and  tenderness  sprang,  full-fledged,  and  his  heart 
accepted  her  without  fear  or  question. 

Presently  the  old  dame,  still  scolding,  drew  the 
lady  from  the  viscount's  embrace  and  forced  the 
goloshes  over  the  silken  slippers. 

"  Ye'll  cE.Lch  yer  death,  my  lady!  One  would 
think  ye  was  old  enough  to  know  better."  she  mut- 
tered. "  And  as  for  Master  Harry,"  she  added, 
"  he  shouldn't  be  made  so  much  of,  after  near 
breakin'  our  hearts  with  his  pranks." 

The  viscount  looked  again  toward  the  doorway 
of  his  ancestral  home,  eager,  and  yet  half-afraid 
for  what  it  might  disclose.  There,  at  the  top  of  the 
wide  steps,  with  the  gloom  of  the  hall  framing  her, 
stood  a  girl  looking  down  at  him  with  eyes  at  once 
dark  and  bright,  glad  and  agleam  with  tears.  And 
her  face  was  the  face  of  his  dream  —  the  match- 
less, wonderful  face  that  had  lurked  just  beyond 
the  grasp  of  his  vision  during  his  waking  hours, 
yet  keeping  his  heart  against  the  lures  of  the  de- 
signing and  the  superficial  beauties. 


282 


Captain  Love 


And  so  Captain  Love  had  returned  to  his  own. 
And  Fate  and  Chance,  that  had  thought  to  make 
him  their  plaything,  were  become  no  more  than 
meaningless  names  whispered  against  the  wind. 


% 


-:m!'! 


THE   END. 


^■ 


ffil 


■^i'if 


t\w:^:'*^:;r^m^ssrfw 


mr 


From 


L.  C.  Page  &  Company's 
Announcement  List 
of  New  Fiction 


Cloth  decorative,  with  6  illus- 
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The  Call  of  the  South 

By  Robert  Lee  Durham. 
trations  by  Henry  Roth 

A  very  strong  novel  dealing  with  the  race  problem  in  this 
country.  The  principal  theme  is  the  danger  to  society  from  the 
inc-easing  miscegpnation  of  the  black  and  white  races,  and  the 
encouragement  it  receives  in  the  social  amenities  extended  to 
negroes  of  distinction  by  persons  prominent  in  politics,  philan- 
thropy and  educational  endeavor;  and  the  author,  a  Southern 
lawyer,  hopes  to  call  the  attention  of  the  whole  country  to  the 
need  of  earnest  work  toward  its  discouragement.  He  has 
written  an  absorbing  drama  of  life  which  appeals  with  apparent 
logic  and  of  which  the  inevitable  denouement  comes  as  a  final 
and  convincing  climax. 

The  author  may  be  criticized  by  those  who  prefer  not  to  face 
the  hour  "  When  Your  Fear  Cometh  As  Desolation  And  Your 
Destruction  Cometh  As  A  Whirlwind; "  but  hi^  honest  of 
purpose  in  the  frank  expression  of  a  danger  so  w^  '  understood 
in  the  South,  which,  however,  many  in  the  North  refuse  to 
recognize,  while  others  have  overlooked  it,  will  be  upheld  by 
the  sober  second  thought  of  the  majority  of  his  readen. 


>i..^/!4w*-,;_ 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S 


i 


«  fi 


V. 


The  House  in  the  Water 

By  Charles  Q.  D.  Roberts,  author  of  "  The  Haunters  <rf 
the  Silences,"  "  Red  Fox,"  "  The  Heart  of  the  Ancient 
Wood,"  etc.  With  cover  design,  sixteen  full-page  drawings, 
and  many  minor  decorations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Cloth  decorative,  with  decorated  wrapper  .         .      $1.60 

Professor  Roberts's  new  book  of  nature  and  animal  life  is  one 
long  story  in  which  he  tells  of  the  life  of  that  wonderfully  acute 
and  tireless  little  worker,  the  beaver.  "  The  Boy  "  and  Jabe 
the  Woodsman  again  appear,  figuring  in  the  story  even  more 
than  they  did  in  "  Red  Fox;  "  and  the  adventures  of  the  boy 
and  the  beaver  make  most  absorbing  reading  for  young  and 
old. 

The  following  chapter  headings  for  ''  The  House  in  the 
Water  "  will  give  an  idea  of  the  fascinating  reading  to  come: 

The  Sound  in  the  Night    (Beavers  at  Work). 

The  Battle  in  the  Pond     (Otter  and  Beaver). 

In  the  Under-water  World    (Home  Life  of  the  Beaver). 

NiQHT  Watchers    ("  The  Boy  "  and  Jabe  and  a  Lynx  See 

the  Beavers  at  Work). 
Dam  Repairing  and  Dam  Building    (A  "  House-raising " 

Bee). 
The  Peril  of  the  Traps    (Jabe  Shows  "  The  Boy"). 
Winter  under  Water     (Safe  from  All  but  Man). 
The  Saving  of  Boy's  Pond     ("The  Boy"   Captures  Two 

Outlaws). 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brookli/n  Eagle, 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and 
literary  exactness."  —  New  York  WorU. 

"  Poet  Laureate  of  the  Animal  World,  Professor  Roberts 
displays  the  keenest  powers  of  observation  closely  interwoven 
with  a  fine  imaginative  discretion."  —  Boston  Transcript. 


T"^ 


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LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


Captain  Love 

The  History  of  a  Most  Romantic  Event  in  the  Life  of 
AN  Enqlish  Gentleman  During  the  Reign  of  His  Majesty 
George  the  First.  Containing  Incidents  of  Courtship 
AND  Danger  as  Related  in  the  Chronicles  of  the  Period 
AND  Now  Set  Down  in  Print 

By  Theodore  Roberts,  author  of  "  The  Red  Feathers," 
"  Brothers  of  Peril,"  etc.  Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by 
Frank  T.  Merrill jl  5q 

A  stirring  romance  with  its  scene  laid  in  the  troublous  times 
in  h.ngland  when  so  many  broken  gentlemen  foregathered  with 
the  Knights  of  the  Road;  "  when  a  man  might  lose  part  of 
his  purse  to  his  opponent  at  "  White's  "  over  the  dice  and  the 
next  day  be  relieved  of  the  rest  of  his  money  on  some  lonely 
heath  at  the  point  of  a  pistol  in  the  hand  of  the  self-same  gambler. 

liut,  if  the  setting  oe  similar  to  ether  novels  of  the  period  the 
story  IS  not.  Mr.  Roberts's  work  is  always  original,  his  style  is 
always  gracef  il,  his  imagination  fine,  his  situations  refreshingly 
novel.  In  his  new  book  he  has  exceUed  himself.  It  is  vta- 
doubtedly  the  best  thing  he  has  done. 


Bahama  Bill 

By  T.  Jenkins  Hains,  author  of  "  The  Black  Barque," 
"The  Voyage  of  the  Arrow,"  etc.  Cloth  decorative,  with 
frontispiece  in  colors  by  H.  R.  Reuterdahl         .         .      $1.50 

The  scene  of  Captain  Hains  s  new  sea  story  is  laid  in  the 
region  of  the  Florida  Keys.  His  hero,  the  giant  mate  of  the 
wrecking  sloop,  Sea-Horse,  while  not  one  to  stir  the  emotions 
of  gentle  feminine  readers,  will  arouse  interest  and  admiration 
in  men  wiio  appreciate  bravery  and  daring. 

His  adventures  while  plying  his  desperate  trade  are  full  of 
the  danger  that  holds  one  at  a  sharp  tension,  and  the  reader 
forgets  to  be  on  the  side  of  law  and  order  in  his  eagerness  to  see 
tne     wrecker     safely  through  his  exciting  escapades. 

Captain  Haina's  descriptions  of  life  at  sea  are  vivid,  absorbindv 
frank  and  remarkably  true.  "Bahama  Bill"  ranks  high  as 
a  stirruiK,  realistic,  unsoftened  and  undiluted  tale  of  the  aea. 
chock  full  of  engrossing  interest. 


Matthew  Porter 


L.  C.  PAOS  ±  COMPANY'S 


2c  ^*WiIi'^  BRADroRD,  Jr.,  author  of  "  The  Private  Tutor  " 
wL«      '^^  *  frontispiece  in  colors  by  Griswold  Tvne     11  fiO 

Sfi^neTwIr*''^"'^"  ^^^"'  ">^  ^'^^  -tho? hla'^at^ffii 

Anne  of  Qreen  Cables 

of  thi,  deJighttul  tale  Mto  MoStome™".?,',  '^'X™*  •j^T 
h«  ^P^^<*'  dned-up  spinster  sister  who  adopt  her  the  liithor 

5plnster  Farm 

3l'S^,"h'^K''°  I'^P'""'"  farm."     Starrth °  taSlTand 
^mat-^  bit.  of  biogKphy  „t  the  fam  ^itiib  S^oihiid 


i»- 


.■J5f-%^ 


Selections  from 

L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

leA  one  7)oI..  lik^„^.. ...     . 


lUus. 


The  Flight  of  Oeorgiana 

The  Bright  Face  of  Danger 

ratlo„>l  and  conralg.-HZXf^V^^i.-'^^r     ""'  "'•"»i»i«g, 

The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport 

(40th  thousand.) 
this  praise,  which  is  generous." iS'^^:;,  PL\^^^''  *•"'  »''""'«  »' 

Captain  Ravenshaw 

Or,  The  Maid  of  CHEAPsrnir     i-^a  .u 

The  Contlnentel  Dragoon 

A  Romance  of  Philipse  Manor    Hot-sK   m    i7,R      /    ., 

thousand.)     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards  "         <"d 

ne^tr^'Sr  *"^^  °^  *'^«'  R«-°J"tion.  with  its  scene  laid  on 


f   n 


.f    . 


t  /..<?.  PAGE  <&-   COMPANY'S 


Philip  Winwood 

(70th   thousand)     A   Sketch   of  the   Domeitic    Hiitory  of  an 

»1i?»'"^*"  *fT  '"  "*'  ^."  °'  Independence,  embracing  evento 
that  occurrea  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and  1785  in 
New  York  and  London.     Illustrated  by  £.  W.  D.  ftamUton. 

An  Enemy  to  the  Kln^ 

(70th  thousandO     From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoir*  of 
the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."     Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An   historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describina  the 
!nr„"nVi,"  S^^y.^ng/f^nch  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry  III„ 
and  on  th*  field  with  Henry  IV.  ' 


(35th  thousand.)      Illustrated  by 


The  Road  to  Paris 

A  Story  of  Adventure. 
H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an  account 
of  the  life  of  an  Amencan  gentleman  adventuier  of  Jacobite  an- 


A  Qentieman  Player 

BETH.     (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 

pa^'VplMenTd""^.^"''"'"*.".^!:"  J'""^  Shakespeare's  com- 
pany Of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  proteg<f  of  the  great 

Clementina's  Highwayman 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  ^ 


UST  OF  FICTION 
▼ORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Haunters  of  the  Silences 

Cloth,  one   volume,  with  many  drawinw  b»  rharU.  i .  •      . 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color  '  '"  ^^for. 

besTtTal'Vv S  ? Httr "'"'  "'*  ""-"«>"  ^  ^'^  ^Uo.J'Z 

-^''^^^^^itV^X:^::^^^  -..y  met 

are  the  supreme  rulers      Mr  PnhJrt.  k  S»'ence8,"  where  they 

theticall,  „  alway.  ^.  ^^^l^^T^J^^irT:^^:^:^^- 

piac^'  H^il^^h"e'rst*Srt;^•;:,f^n^r"''*"  t  --^'« 

Red  Fox 

The  Story  of  His  Adventurous  Cawir  in  th.  »,»«».., 
Wilds,  and  of  His  Finat  Tb.,,L-„  ^^*  Rihowaak 

His  Kind.  Wifh  fifty  fiLT«H„"r°?!i™',  ^'*'»*'"  »' 
color  and  cover  design  bj  SS'uv  n«ton  bS  """^P'^*  '- 
Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative  '"^"^  "»"• 

sp:^t;:'rtgTv^s%x^To^f  [h^t^nt'f^"  ?h'  --^e't*'"" 

the  hunted/'- ^«/./rrr,^°5,f^  ^"*'  °'  *'**  °* 

old'a'nTyotg'^XTotn'dl'rfd*?"^  ^  ^*'°"-     '»  ^^'^  '"*-"' 


HI 


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_L.  C.  PAGE  A'   COMPANY'S 


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The  Kindred  of  the  Wild 
The  Watchers  of  the  Trails 

t\^^ZH^%^r.ll^''^'f  ""'  •"•  ^"''•"  With 

by  dhafle,  Kvin^Jfton^fiSf.  ^  "*"^  decoration,  from  drawing. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover .  g 

In'lh'el^^pJiSioTors^te  o^I'/^    "f^™^'  "'»  ^^^  -^^^ 
the  penUtures /f  the'^a^th^l^-'l^ziX^iJi^r'  ^"PP'-"""* 

The  Heart  That  Knows 

Library  umo,  cloth,  decorative  cover         .  . 

"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  «»r»«r,.i,*  i     *•       *    .    *       ^"^^ 
color,  rich  in  its  pasfionat^lSSerat-l^r  V^?*  & 

Earth's  Enigmas 

t  r872.td°ouf  of 'nri^t1:r  '"*,  ^^'""^  '^^  ««=''-•  published 

Library  lamo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  * 

•E;r\Vs*tig„t'farde?ranl"'r%'^'    short 'stori'es.   'i; 
dred  of  the  Wi  d '"-^I^  /  ^^  v     '"''J^/''  '*'*"  '"  ^^^  '  Kin- 

Barbara  Ladd 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 
Library  lamo,  cloth,  decorative  covsr 

us'Ln'bThS'ra^rdl^v'otion'^lrth^eVt'"^^^  ^^^^  ^'-  ^'''^^^^  '-- 


Lrsr  OF  r/cr/oAT 


Cameron  of  Lochiel 

fTruSiroii^H"?  K^w'S'''  '^-'^"•*-  ""^'^^ 

Library  1 2mo.  cloth  decorative 

The  Prisoner  of  Mademoiselle 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 
Library  i2nio.  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top 

-o/f vatnt"o^nglieu\Tnl:t''^^^  "'"-••  '-'*'•  A^^ 

captures  and  then  caJtiS  *  '"'"°'°"  "^<'«'''  *"»<>  *«» 

.    "  ThiLi  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  mako.  «n- 

innocent,  more  light-hearted      ul  H.t  ?"*  younger,  more 

It  is  not  every  day  that  t"h',  k  ""'u?  'l"*'"^  »  impeccable, 
rary  existenci  and  thi  verJ  n^m^^f^^^'°"'""^•"^°  "«"  '«'"P^ 
cha;m."-C.i;V«;;i;i:,2KS         "'  "'^  *«"•  *  "'"^''^ 

The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood 

Ub«,l",2l''"'^°"'  ^y  J""""  L.  Weston, 
library  i2mo,  uecorative  cover 

^^One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  ;ecen;  day,."^  i),^ 
^Z;^^^"  t-entieth^entury  romance."- A^«.  n^k  Comn..rcial 

The  Forge  In  the  Forest 

Library  izraa,  cloth,  gilt  top 

A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventnre.' 


I1.50 


By  the  Marshes  of  MInas 

iJbra^  .amo,  cloth,  gilt  top.  illustrated     .  « 

Most  of  these  romance^  are  in  th-  ,.  ►u  •  ',.  .  '  '  *'"5® 
playful  vein;  each  is  a  unit  of  ah^f  k?  ''?"'  "k""*"  "^^  »<>'• 
workmanship.  ~^  **  "*  •""'  «*  absorbing  interest  and  ezquiute 


L.  C.  PAGE  &'   COM  PA  I^VS 


A  Sister  to  Evangeline 

?^Mk  fJ°'^-,?^  ^^""."^  *'*  '  *'""""«•  *"d  '^o"  s»»e  went  into 
enle  with  the  villagers  of  Gr-.  m\  ?^^■ 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  t     .  iliustiaud     -        .        .  *,  « 

.nH^.i/K"°"'  ^'T^-  ^V"*"*'  '"■"'''■■  "''■■'^'-s-^Tie  purity,  deep  pawion. 
and  searching  analysis  chara/  e.i  =  this  str  jm-  noveh         »*  »*™    "• 


111  s    ( 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

Carolina  Lee 

Krifh*'iT**'''^"  '"  color  from  an  oil  painting  by  Dora  Wheeler 
Keith.     Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .  «,  rn 

A  Christian  Science  novel,  full  of  action,  alive  with  incident  and 
bnsk  wnth  pithy  dialogue  and  humor."- ^^../<,„  TranscHpf 

A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South,  refresh- 
^i^Hhn*'    ^^"^  "  *'''°"S'*  *  P'"«  forest."-  ///^<,„j,  Timet- 

Hope  Loring; 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  ijmo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .  «,  -q 

"Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  ner'ves  and 

sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and  tender  a^d 

beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not  bold  -  sucMs 

llT'^^TK^      "^  ""^^V^^  '"'^"«^'  ^^'xiy  that  has  yet  been 
Ti^kL        ^"^"""""^  g\r\."~  Dorothy  Dix,  in  tht  New   York 

Abroad  with  the  Jimmies 

With  a  portrait,  in  duogravure.  of  the  author. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .         .  •,  c- 

"Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  aiid  momentum  "'L 
CHtcago  Evening  Post. 

At  Home  with  the  Jardines 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies  " 
Library  i2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .  *    , 

^..K?'w  °^  g.»y»»."mor.  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  knd  keen  in- 
dubitable insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings  of  pure 
human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly  extraneous  ?ove 


I 


LIST  OF  FICTION^ 


tl-25 


The  Interference  of  Patricia 

With  a  frontispiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 

bmail  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover ^ 

"There  is  life  and  action  and  brilliancy  and  dash  and  deyernels 
Si^j  Jy^«A?''"°*^°°  °*  business  ways  in  this  story."—  Grand 

HerM^°^  '""  °'  """^  *"**  ***^*  *»*"*"— Ckitoio  Rttord- 

A  Boole  of  Qirls 

With  a  frontispiece. 

Small  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover |i.2c 

JvJ  A.«*°"*^  "^  ^'^  eventfcl  and  have  effective  humor."  — A>w 

"  Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the  varia- 
tions  of  girl  nature  so  charmingly."—  Chicago  Journal. 

Tht  aiovt  two  volumes  boxed  in  special  holiday  dress,  per  set,  $sjo 
VORKS  OF 

NATHAN  GALLIZER 

The  Sorceress  of  Rome 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .  - 

basis  of  various  German  poems  and  plays.  ^  * 

Mr.  Gallizier  has  used  it  for  the  main  theme  of  "  The  Sorceress 

of  work,  describing  clearly  an  exciting  and  strenuous  period       ^ 

Castel  del  Monte 

With  six  illustrations  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative         .         .  g 

A  powerful  romance  of  the  fall  of  tli»  h^»,^„  »     *       J        *  -SO 


'   1, 


H  i-L 


L    C.  PAGE   &•    COMPANY'S 


r\ 

n 


VORKS  OF 

MORLEY  ROBERTS 

Rachel  Marr 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  dec      .  ve |,ro 

"A  novel  of  tremendous  force,  with  a  style  that  is  sure,  luxuriant, 
compelling,  full  of  color  and  vital  ioxce."  —  Elia  IV.  Peattie  in 
Chicago  Tribune.  ' 

"  In  atmosphere,  if  nothing  else,  the  story  is  absolutely  perfect  " 

—  Boston  Transcript.  ^  /  t-  • 

Lady  Penelope 

With  nine  illustrations  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  izmo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  fresh  and  original  bit  of  comedy  as  amusing  as  it  Is  auda- 
aous."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Idlers 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  John  C.  Frohn. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative Jirg 

"  It  is  as  absorbing  as  the  devil.  Mr.  Roberts  gives  us  the  antithe- 
sis of  '  Rachel  Marr '  in  an  equally  masterful  and  convincing  work  " 

—  The  New  York  Sun. 

"It  is  a  work  of  great  ethical  ioxct." ~ Professor  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts. 

The  Promotion  of  the  Admiral 

Library  l2mo,  cloth   iecorative,  illustrated       .         .        .        I1.50 

•'  If  any  one  writes  better  sea  stories  than  Mr.  Roberts,  we  don't 

kiiow  who  It  is  ;  and  if  there  is  a  better  sea  story  of  its  kind  than 

this  It  would  be  a  joy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  '\\.."  —  New 

York  Sun. 

"  There  is  a  hearty  laugh  in  every  one  of  these  stories."—  The 
Reader. 

The  Flying  Cloud 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  .        .        .        I1.50 

When  "The  Flying  Cloud,"  wa.i  published,  the  New  York  Times 

Saturday  Review  said:  "It  is  the  drama  of  the  sea  :  human  nature 

stnpped  naked  by  salt  water  alchemy  and  painted  as  only  the  author 

or  Joseph  Conrad  could  paint  it.  .  .  ,  A  corking  story,  a  ripping  good 


.  fl.50 
txuriant, 
attit,  in 

Derfect." 


is  auda- 


antithe- 
work." 

r  CD. 


11.50 
e  don't 
id  than 
—  A-ew 

•—  The 


I1.50 
Times 

nature 
author 
ggood 


